Music of Our Lives
by ChelsieSouloftheAbbey
Summary: Sequel to "Music of the Heart." Glimpses into the Carsons' lives in retirement, with frequent appearances by Dr. Clarkson and Isobel as well as Anna and John Bates, Mrs Patmore and Daisy, and others.
1. Whose Hands Are These?

**Welcome to the EPILOGUE of "Music of the Heart"!**

 **If you have NOT yet read "Music of the Heart," you may wish to do so before embarking upon this one, as the following chapters WILL contain "spoilers" for that story.**

 **Not beta'd, so pardon any typos.**

 **All chapters are associated with songs. You can go to and find my username (ChelsieSouloftheAbbey) and the playlist "Music of Our Lives" to hear each song. It's free if you download Spotify. Alternatively, you can find them all on YouTube.**

 **Thanks! :)**

 **CSotA**

 **Whose hands are these**

 **That touch me when my soul is bare?**

 **Whose hands are these**

 **That offer all they've got to share,**

 **To show the way**

 **And stay the course?**

 **Whose hands are these?**

 **These hands are yours.**

 **"Whose Hands Are These," ~Neil Diamond**

Elsie crested a small hill as she made her way back to the cottage, sighing in relief as she spied Charles tending the roses that peeked out from behind the corner of their new addition. _Home at last!_ One hellish trip into town and back, on errands that could have waited until tomorrow: done. She shook her head, remembering once again that she preferred to go into town with her husband as opposed to alone … especially when they were out of _stamps_.

As she approached the cottage she placed her basket down on the ground, shifted the weight of the bag in her other arm, and reached out to unlatch the gate. As soon as she passed through it, Elsie heard her husband's lovely voice reach her ears, only to frown as her brain processed what he'd shouted. No, that was definitely not a 'Hello, love!' like she had expected, but rather something that sounded like a word Charles _never_ uttered outside the walls of their home, and normally not even _inside_ of them. Evidently he hadn't heard her come home at all, and something was decidedly _wrong_.

Elsie quickly left her bundles on the front step and rushed around to the patio. One glance told her all she needed to know: there stood Charles, holding one hand under the other, the topmost one being squeezed into a fist as if his life depended on it. She spied her new pruning shears where he'd dropped them … and a small amount of blood dripping from the middle of his fist, over his other hand and onto the ground.

"Whatever happened?" Elsie said, mildly alarmed. "Well, never mind, I can _guess_ what happened," she continued, noticing his look of disbelief. "Let's get you inside, now!"

Moments later, as she held Charles's hand over the kitchen sink, Elsie gently rinsed the cut with tepid water. "It doesn't appear too deep, despite all the blood," she mused. "I gather my new, petite pruning shears weren't made for men?" She turned off the water and handed him a clean flannel. "Squeeze that for a minute, dear."

Charles grumbled out a "Thank you." Elsie smiled at him, then raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.

"I thought I'd cut back the roses a bit, thought I'd try out your new shears. Not my most brilliant idea, evidently. They somehow slipped in these ridiculously huge hands I have, although I'm _still_ not sure how I managed to cut myself because the blades should stay on the _inside_ of them … " Only then did he remember that she'd just returned from doing errands. "How was your trip into town?"

"Don't get me started on _that_ just now," Elsie said with a grimace. "Suffice to say it was an experience better left forgotten."

"Well, now you _have_ to tell me," Charles answered, watching intently as his wife applied a salve to his cut and then wrapped gauze around his hand. "How do you do that so perfectly?" he marveled. "Like a nurse, really."

"Farm girl, remember?" she chuckled. "Lots of farm accidents."

Charles could have kicked himself for making her think of the farm. _Yes, lots of all sorts of "accidents" to patch up …_ He looked at her with sad eyes, but she just shook her head and patted his cheek. "It's all right, love," she said softly. "Nothing to fret about."

Charles followed his wife to the front door and picked up her basket with his unscathed hand, allowing her to hold the door for him as they went back into the kitchen so that he wouldn't have to grab it himself. He used his good hand to unpack the basket and bag, handing her the items so that she could put them away. She had evidently made it to the post office ( _stamps_ ), the grocer ( _fresh greens_ ) and the tea shoppe ( _new tea – flavored with CINNAMON? She's gone mad …_ ), along with having gotten him a couple of books at the library and … yes, some new yarn for Brenna's fall sweater.

"Elsie, how on earth did you manage all of this in just under a couple of hours?" Charles asked, bewildered.

His wife huffed in response. "Oh, I was on a _roll_ after the first stop, I can tell you! Care to guess where that was?"

Charles closed his eyes and answered with a sigh. "The post office, I presume?"

"Heavens, _how_ did you guess?" Elsie took a deep breath. "Yes, well, that _horrid_ postmistress was _ever_ so unpleasant, to the point that I practically _threw_ the money on the counter and left with our stamps, trying to ignore her multitude of questions about my _'dear husband, Charles_ ' who, did I even _realize_ , is such a _'kind, darling man,'_ – oh! I was still so furious when I arrived at the grocer's that Mr. Cox didn't say much beyond a friendly 'Hello,' and everyone must have taken one look at my face and seen my rage, because they virtually _jumped_ out of my way, enabling me to grab the collards I needed for dinner in about a minute flat!" Elsie paused for a minute to catch her breath, then furrowed her brow. "Actually, I _do_ feel badly about that ... quite pushy of me, really."

Charles just stared at his wife, trying to process the words that were spilling out of her mouth. His wife, as a general rule, was _not_ terribly fond of the flirtatious postmistress, but the woman must have truly been rude for Elsie to have allowed jealousy to get the better of her in public.

Elsie continued on, well aware of how out of character her words must have sounded but feeling unable to stop now that she'd started.

" _Then_ I made it to the tea shoppe. Because I'd ordered the new tea last week – don't look at me that way, dear, you'll love it – it was waiting for me at the counter when I arrived and so I didn't spend much time there, either. By the time I got to the library I was still in a bit of mood so I simply asked for two of their newest biographies instead of taking the time to browse, figuring you wouldn't mind terribly much what they were if you'd not read them yet – you're such a love about that, dear," she said, patting his arm. _Deep breath._ "By the time I picked up the yarn, I was exhausted. Needless to say, coming home to you bleeding all over our patio was the icing on the cake!" Elsie took one look at Charles's face, noticing his eyes wide with what looked suspiciously like fear, and turned her back to him, standing at the sink and trying to rein in her emotions. _Retirement, oh yes! 'More time to take a stroll into the village, Elsie!' What a treat THAT has been!_

"Elsie, love, come here," Charles said softly. When she didn't move, he approached her from behind and encouraged her to turn and face him again. He looked into her eyes, then wrapped his arms lovingly around her shoulders and drew her to his chest, caressing her with the hand that _wasn't_ throbbing. After a moment, he pulled back a bit, leaning around to kiss her gently on the side of her neck, just under the ear.

"Now … better?"

She nodded, wiping her eye with the edge of her sleeve. "Yes, much. You always know just what to say or do to make me feel better. How do you do that?"

Charles just smiled, then tapped the tip of her nose with his finger. "I think it's because I _love_ you," he said with a wink.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Elsie looked away from the page she'd been reading and let her attention fall instead to her sleeping husband. His head was resting on her thigh, his hands carefully laid one on top of the other on his mid-section as his feet dangled over the edge of their massive sofa. _Just like a baby_ , she thought blissfully. She let her gaze travel over the curls that had fallen onto his forehead, smiling to herself, and continued on down to his lips, noting how they were barely parted in his sleep, and to the scar that was on his chin. She resisted the urge to touch his hair or the stubble on his face lest she waken him. As her eyes moved even further downward they glanced upon his hands, noticing how the injured hand peeked out from underneath the unharmed one, and her eyes rested upon the white bandage, focused on it and yet not really seeing it as her mind began to wander further.

 _How can hands that BIG be so gentle?_ Elsie pondered that for what must have been the millionth time, reflecting on the irony of how Charles was perhaps the largest man she'd ever met but, in many ways, he was the gentlest being she'd ever known. Tall, broad-shouldered, booming voice, massive chest … and hands that were as gentle as the finest rain. His were hands that could polish a cabinet full of silver, simultaneously grasping and rubbing the cloth furiously over each object while maintaining just the gentleness needed not to bend the fragile details of each item. They were hands that could pour a glass of wine without letting one drop fall, a flick of his wrist and his carefully-measured grasp perfect every time. They were hands that could chop firewood for the upcoming winter, rip apart old branches, break down worn fencing that needed replacing … and hands which, in the very next moment, could lift their sleeping granddaughter from her crib without waking her. They were hands that could brush across Elsie's face as she was just falling asleep and feel light as a feather, and that could maneuver the clasp of her finest silver chain or the tiniest of buttons on her favorite dress.

 _And he has invisible hands, too ... the ones that can somehow reach into my very soul, feel out just what I need, and selflessly leave whatever it is inside so that I can heal when I am hurting._

She realized with a start that Charles was no longer sleeping; instead, he was staring at her face, his eyebrows furrowed in a silent question.

Elsie nibbled on her thumbnail, putting an answer together as best she could. _How do you put this into words?_

"I was thinking about you … about how gentle you are … about how you always know _what_ I need, _when_ I need it, and how you give so freely of yourself," she whispered. "I could tell you every day how much this marriage, this _life_ , means to me, but nothing I say will ever be enough to thank you for this love, Charles." With that, she did reach down and run her fingers through his hair, combing it back over the top of his head as she did so.

"I only need to look into your eyes, Els," he replied softly. "In them, I see everything that you are, and everything that you need, and I am privileged to be the one to whom you show what's inside, and the one you _allow_ inside to care for you."

 _Well, then …_ She leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips, giggling at how his nose bumped into her chin. "Let's head up," she said. "It wouldn't do to fall asleep here when we have that great … _kiss_ … big … _kiss_ … bed up there."

Charles managed to sit up and swing his legs down to the floor. He held out his unbandaged hand to help Elsie up from the sofa. "No," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "that wouldn't do at all … not after the day _you've_ had."


	2. I Won't Be the One to Let Go

**The playlist for the entire story is on Spotify. Go to their website, enter Username: ChelsieSouloftheAbbey, Playlist: Music of Our Lives. This chapter's song is "I Won't Be the One To Let Go" by Barbra Streisand feat. Barry Manilow.**

 **Reviews are always welcome – thanks in advance!**

 **ANGST ALERT!**

 **xx,**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 ** _Life gets tough, roads get rough,_**

 ** _Who knows what awaits us 'round the bend?_**

 ** _Count on me, faithfully ..._**

 ** _I won't be the one to let go._**

Charles hazarded a look downward to where his wife lay sleeping, her head nestled into the crook of his shoulder. _She looks so peaceful_ , he thought. He closed his eyes for a moment and allowed himself to bask in the joy that their marriage had brought to his life. He'd always counted himself lucky to have had Elsie cross his path all those years ago; she was intelligent, kind, a hard worker, and had been a blessed companion as they had ruled the downstairs of Downton Abbey over the years. As they'd gotten to know one another in those early days, they had danced around the beginnings of a friendship that both had hoped would extend beyond the boundaries of just a professional, _working_ relationship. Very quickly, Charles had realized he'd likely never had any other colleague, man _or_ woman, who could rival Elsie's emotional and intellectual balance: she was well-read, well-spoken, well-versed in common sense, and had an innate knowledge of when kindness would be needed instead of the gruff admonishments he was used to giving. Somehow she always managed to rule over the younger _and_ older staff with a maturity lacking in many women twice her age. As the years had gone on, he had appreciated more and more how amazing Elsie Hughes really was; the instant she became Elsie Carson, Charles decided that he'd spend the rest of his life showing her just how much she was loved.

But those years they spent working together at the Abbey had allowed moments of sadness and strife to mingle with the times of pride and happiness, and Charles took a moment to let his mind wander to places it always hesitated to go: places of fear and longing, times when even death had taunted them from afar, never quite reaching out to them directly but always there in the distant shadows of their lives, watching. They'd lost children, although not their own even if it had felt that way. They'd seen the victimization and imprisonment of their colleagues, and had fought scandal as it tried to descend again and again upon the family they had both upstairs and down. Charles remembered having the Spanish flu, and how loving Elsie had been as she cared for him, watching over him with a dedication no one else could have - or _would_ have - shown as she waited to hear if he'd live or die. And, of course, his mind couldn't help but move directly from _that_ hell to the time when Elsie had thought _herself_ to be ill, the only time he could recall when she didn't allow him near to her at all. The memory saddened him all over again, as though the wound were fresh upon his heart instead of healed over, scarred, tucked away under all the love he'd come to know. Charles acknowledged that his deepest regret in all their time spent side-by-side was having taken the cowardly way out when he feared for Elsie's health, nagging Mrs. Patmore about it instead of just asking Elsie about it directly, instead of telling her she looked _tired_. He knew now that she may not have answered him then, but that thought was always at war inside his head with the knowledge that she almost never told an outright _lie_. He wondered now, all these years later, if she'd have let him in if only he had poked and prodded, if he had pried his way behind the layers of _her_ wall as she'd always done with his. Since just before they had married, however, they had committed to no longer keeping secrets from one another, and both had found that sharing the fears from the past had joined them in an almost spiritual way that neither could have predicted; fear of rejection after having covered up a crime in Scotland – no longer a fear; the secret life of an orphan who had been practically raised by none other than the then-Countess of Grantham – totally out in the open. But they'd never discussed _this_ , the only thing that had ever overshadowed their relationship with a sense of the _unknown_ , of an unwillingness to entrust – or, better yet, _burden_ – the other with one's fears.

 _Only now_ , he thought, _we'll have to, and it will all come back in horrific, powerful waves. But not until tomorrow – no, definitely not until tomorrow._

And, with that fading thought, Charles fell into a fitful sleep.

oOoOoOoOo

Morning dawned gray and cloudy, the makings of a storm on the horizon, a harbinger of what was to come. Elsie opened her eyes and saw only darkness, realizing after a moment that her face had somehow, over the course of the night, become pushed up against her husband's chest, her body cocooned inside of his arms as if he had been holding onto her for dear life at some point during the night. She felt a rush of pleasure as her mind processed the thought, memories of the previous night flooding in along with it, and she took a few seconds to simply breathe in the unique scent that was Charles Carson. Hearing his steady breathing above her head, she hazarded a stealth-like movement backwards. Seeing no reaction from Charles she managed to inch her body downward and away from his, somehow silently remove herself from his embrace and easing out from underneath the sheets as she did so. She reached over toward the chair to pet their cat, Thunder, sparing a moment to notice the softness of the cat's furry, black body. Elsie watched her jump from the chair to the hard, wooden floor without making a sound, as only cats seemed able to do. Thunder landed and looked up at Elsie, tilting her head in askance.

"Yes, I know," Elsie crooned in an almost-whisper. "It's time to eat. Downstairs, now, so as not to wake your Da." She pointed toward the door and the cat walked through it, the routine familiar to her by now.

Elsie pulled her nightgown from where it had been carelessly tossed last night and put it on quickly, grateful for its warmth in the chilly bedroom. She quietly added wood to the dying fire so that Charles wouldn't be freezing when he woke, removed her dressing gown from the hook on the door, and headed down to the kitchen. Gently biting on her lip and smiling broadly to herself as she descended the stairs, Elsie reflected once again on how lucky she and Charles were to have forged a relationship of such deep, intense _feelings_ instead of just having entered into a marriage of simple _convenience_. It had brought them closer in a way she'd dared not imagine even a year ago, and she knew that their partnership was a bond forged by mutual love, passion, respect and care; in short, all the things of which a marriage _should_ be made, as opposed to the unquestionably poor example she'd been shown as a young lass. And they'd slipped into it all so seamlessly, really. She was still amazed at how, after _years_ of skirting around one another's feelings, they'd each immersed themselves in the other's heart so completely and unabashedly.

Lifting the kettle onto the stove, Elsie re-lit the fire in the kitchen hearth and filled Thunder's dish with food. When the water was ready she made herself a cup of tea, and then took the afghan from the back of the sofa and headed out onto the patio, leaving the door open a bit for the cat.

Elsie loved these early-morning hours of solitude. Charles often slept a bit later than she did, which was a carryover from their days at the Abbey; she had always been up before the knock at the door, enjoying the quiet that had been hard to find in such a large house once everyone else had risen. He'd be up in about half an hour, she knew, and as long as it wasn't raining he'd find her out here. She liked to enjoy her first cup of tea in her chair on the patio, watching the light creep up and touch upon the trees that lined the back of their property. Even on a morning that was overcast, the difference that just a few moments could make in the beauty of the land always reminded Elsie that there was something _bigger_ than herself out there, something that could be counted on day in and day out, with each rising and setting of the sun. She thought it a rather wonderful way to start the day.

Charles finally emerged from the kitchen after about forty-five minutes. By then the chill in the air had all but disappeared and Elsie had discarded the afghan over the back of her chair. She greeted her husband warmly as he laid the tray he'd prepared on the table between them, leaning over for his morning kiss.

"Good morning, love," he said, gently caressing her cheek with his warm hand. "Sleep well?"

"I did, and you?" Elsie frowned a bit as Charles mumbled non-committedly, and set himself to pouring their tea.

It was their little ritual: she would rise and feed the cat, enjoying her quiet time to collect her thoughts, then he would join her on later on, refresh her cup of tea, and bring along with the hot tea something in the form of breakfast. Today, however, he seemed a bit preoccupied, the toast and boiled eggs laying untouched. Elsie wasn't terribly concerned at first, thinking simply that he may not have slept well but, after leaning over for another kiss, he took his chair and moved it away from the table, placing it alongside hers, and took her hand in his.

"Charles? What is it?"

He just squeezed his hand in hers and, for the first time, she noticed just how unsettled he truly was. She felt him tremble and she noticed that he was resolutely looking out over the trees instead of at her.

"Charles, _tell me_ , for heaven's sake." Her voice trailed off, noticing that his eyes appeared to be filling with tears. _What on earth …?_

He sighed and swallowed, then licked his lips, unsure of which part of his brain might be able to produce the words he so desperately needed. He had been searching and searching for them since waking up and watching the back of her as she'd silently left the bedroom, but his mind – always so well-versed in literature and language, in finding the right words at the right time no matter what the circumstance – had come up with nothing. It wasn't the first time he'd been unsure of himself in her presence and he was certain it wouldn't be the last, but it was without a doubt the _worst_. He had spent the past few months carefully crafting a web around them both, spun of love and caring and tender words, of laughter and music and the holding of hands, of embraces and gentle touches … but this was going to shove all of those things out of the way, and Charles knew he'd have to force them back in bit by bit in the days and weeks ahead, if she allowed him to do so at all.

"Charles, you're frightening me now," she said softly, a tremble to her voice and an extra edge to the Scottish brogue he loved so much.

He turned to look at her at last, keeping his tears contained by some miracle of divine intervention.

"Elsie, last night, when we were … oh, this is so impossible to say," he started.

Elsie wasn't sure _what_ to think. _Last night was WONDERFUL,_ she thought. _At least, I thought it was?_

"Did I do something to displease you?" she asked timidly, the words coming out softly as she reflected on the memory of the night, a blush creeping up her neck and over her jawline as she stared determinedly at the patio stones.

His eyes widened with a look of almost horror at the question. "No! No, love, it's nothing to do with anything you did. That was all, well … _wonderful_ ," he assured her, managing a small smile.

She looked up at him, confused, and squeezed his hand. "Well, then?"

Charles took a few deep breaths, and committed himself at last to the only words he had been able to find. _Better blunt than silent._

"Els, last night, when we were … you know … when I was _touching_ …," he repeated. "I'm sorry, I don't know how to put this in any loving or gentle way whatsoever."

Her eyes widened, and all of a sudden she _knew_ what he was going to say. _Oh, hell … no, NO, it cannot be …_

"I think I _found_ something … I felt a lump, of some sort … in your right breast." To his credit, Charles didn't blush at all upon uttering the words, and his eyes never left hers. "I wasn't sure at first, but, well … I felt it again a few moments after. Obviously it wasn't the right moment to tell you just then and, frankly, I wasn't sure how. I'm so sorry to throw this at you first thing in the morning," he finished.

Elsie squeezed his hands as she processed this new information. _Well ... it was always a possibility._ She took a few deep breaths of her own, and then saw the terror in her beloved man's eyes.

"There's no reason to think it's cancer," she said quietly. "It wasn't before, you _know_ that."

Charles realized she was more concerned at the moment for _his_ feelings than for her own. "I know," he said. "But, Els, we need to see Richard about this. _Today._ "

She nodded. "Yes, of course." She rose from the chair, only to find she'd somehow lost the ability to stand. Seeing the lovely view of the land spinning in front of her, the last thought Elsie had was _Oh no, not again,_ as she fainted once more into the arms of her loving man.

 _To be continued …_

* * *

 **A/N: The song and title of this chapter is from a lovely Barbra Streisand/Barry Manilow song on Barbra's _Duets_ album. It's my favorite of her albums, actually, so check it out on Spotify if you're not familiar with it.**


	3. For You

**A/N: This is the second update in less than 24 hours – if you missed Ch 2 then definitely read that first!**

 **This song is particularly poignant, I think, and expresses the depth of love between Elsie and Charles. Spotify playlist "Music of Our Lives," username – ChelsieSouloftheAbbey. Go have a listen**

 _ **No words to say,**_

 _ **No words to convey**_

 _ **This feeling inside I have for you.**_

 _ **Deep in my heart**_

 _ **Safe from the guards**_

 _ **Of intellect and reason,**_

 _ **Leaving me at a loss**_

 _ **For words to express my feelings …**_

 _ **~"For You," by Tracy Chapman**_

 _ **Previously:**_

 _Elsie squeezed his hands as she processed this new information. "There's no reason to think it's cancer," she said quietly. "It wasn't before, you know that."_

 _Charles realized she was more concerned at the moment for his feelings than for her own. "I know," he said. "But we need to see Richard about this. Today."_

 _She nodded. "Yes, of course." She rose from the chair, only to find she'd somehow lost the ability to stand. Seeing the lovely view spinning in front of her, the last thought Elsie had was Oh no, not again, as she fainted once more into the arms of her loving butler._

Charles caught Elsie swiftly in his arms and made for the door to the cottage, toeing it open and carrying his wife to the sofa in the parlour. He had planned to lay her down there alone but thought the better of it, deciding instead to sit and hold her in his lap until she came to; the thought of not holding her, of breaking physical contact at that moment, was more than he could bear.

"Elsie? Love, wake up," he said to her, gently caressing her cheek with the back of his knuckles.

Elsie's eyes fluttered open after a few seconds, and her gaze was clouded for a moment. Charles could read the instant that everything came flooding back to her as he watched her confused, distant glance focus on his face and instantly transform into a look of deep fear.

"Charles?" Then, after a moment, "Oh, my goodness – you caught me. Again."

He smiled at that. "Yes, but we don't need to be making a habit of that, alright?"

Elsie chuckled and shook her head. "No, but it would help tremendously if I stopped getting bad news."

Charles reflected back to the last time he'd caught his wife in his arms – which was the _first_ time, when she'd received that awful telegram about Becky – and was eternally grateful that he didn't have to worry about any sense of propriety now. _One of the benefits of marriage_ , he thought, _is that I can hold my wife whenever she needs me to._

Elsie was watching her husband's face as his emotions played across it, and she tilted her head to kiss his cheek, careful not to scratch herself against the morning stubble. "It's early yet, and no one will be at the hospital until at least eight. Let's eat, then we'll dress and I'll give them a call."

Charles closed his eyes briefly and nodded his agreement. The mention of the hospital rendered him incapable of speaking for the moment, so he lifted Elsie slightly and moved her onto the couch itself, then stood and went to retrieve the tray from the patio.

Elsie watched her husband's retreating form, pondering the change in his demeanor since last night. He was treading carefully, as if any step out of line would disrupt whatever peace she was managing to hold onto. It was a strange feeling, having someone who wanted nothing more than to _care for her_.It was something she'd rarely experienced over the course of her sixty-plus years and, even then, most occurrences had been fleeting and, most certainly, had only happened had since she'd been employed at Downton. Elsie's world prior to that had been one of existing purely in survival mode, and caring for others who needed her attention. She felt torn at the moment, the feeling of wanting to bask in the loving care of her husband being at odds with her fury at the thought of how her own body had betrayed her – not once, but now twice, it seemed.

 _But this time is different indeed,_ she thought. Now she could accept his care, _welcome_ it, invite him in and share her fears. While she was still reluctant to do that in general, not ever having been a person to readily share her feelings and, in her mind, open herself up to scrutiny, she'd tried very hard to become better at it over the past few months. Letting go of her secrets from Argyll had helped to push her along that pathway and learning the details of her husband's past had made her feel, well, a little less _alone_. It was hard work, learning to trust another person with one's innermost thoughts, even for people who've known each other and been friends for decades. _But marriage SHOULD be hard work_ , she reasoned, _so that one appreciates it all the more_. And if there was one thing Elsie Carson appreciated more than anything on earth, it was this precious, new, glorious life that she and Charles were crafting.

Breakfast was a muted affair, understandably, which they uncharacteristically ate on the sofa, sitting side by side, their legs touching. The need to feel close to one another was almost oppressive, and each cherished the warmth that the other's body provided. When they'd finished, Elsie hazarded a glance at the clock that rested on the mantle. _7:30._ "Let me clean up and I'll meet you upstairs," she said.

Charles nodded, understanding from just her glance that his wife needed to be _doing_ something. He headed up and dressed himself, then moved into their en-suite to run a bath for Elsie, figuring she could use the relaxation it would provide before she embarked upon the rest of the day. He heard the sound her footsteps over the rush of the water, her slower and slightly-heavier-than-normal pace carrying to his ears like a melancholy tune.

He turned to face her and approached her slowly as she stood just inside the doorway, her eyes on the tub as a ghost of a smile crossed her lips. Charles reached for her and slowly untied her dressing gown as he placed a kiss to her forehead, saying nothing. He brushed the gown off of her shoulders with carefully-trained hands, placing it on the back of the chair that they kept behind the tub for those nights when he'd wash her hair. He leaned over and turned off the faucet, then returned his attentions to his wife. He gathered the lower portion of her nightdress in his hands, lifting it up and silently motioning for her to move her arms so that he could remove it. He folded it in fourths and laid it over the gown, then reached his arms out as Elsie fell into his embrace. He closed his eyes and grasped onto her as if he would never let go, laying kisses on the top of her head and breathing in her scent, feeling her trembling body as ripples of her fear passed into his own chest. He knew she wasn't crying, but somehow this was _worse_.

After a moment, Elsie pulled away and found his eyes with her own. "Show me," she said quietly.

He understood immediately. "Let's get you into the tub first," he replied. He moved over to the edge of the sink and returned with a few hair pins, handing them to Elsie and watching as she made quick work of pinning up her braid so as not to get her hair wet. He then extended his arm, reaching for her hand so that she could step into the tub steadily. She sat, sighing with pleasure as her body sank into the tub, the temperature of the water perfect. Try as she might, she could never get it _quite_ as correct as Charles could – _He really is VERY good with details_ , she thought warmly.

Charles moved the chair to position it along the right side of the tub instead of behind it. He transferred her clothes to the floor and sat down, rolling up his shirtsleeves. "Okay, lift your arm."

Elsie did as instructed, and Charles reached for her, laying his hands on her breast. He felt around a bit, trying desperately to remember where he'd noticed the lump last night. He had wondered at the time how he'd not noticed it before but, today, he realized just how, well, _hidden_ it seemed.

"Here," he said after a moment, and she covered his fingertips with her own, waiting for him to remove his own hand so that she could feel it. Their eyes met and Elsie was struck by the sensation that, after all the loving embraces and passionate evenings they'd shared over the past several months, this was perhaps the most reverent touch she'd ever felt on her body. She closed her eyes and nodded her thanks, words completely failing her in the power of that shared moment.

She felt it immediately, exploring its boundaries with her fingertips. "Oh, yes, there," she said to herself. "A bit larger than the last, I think, but not painful …"

Charles furrowed his brow at that. "It was painful?"

She nodded. "Yes, rather, although that could have been the pressure of the corset."

"You've never discussed it with me, and I don't mean to pressure you …"

Elsie reached out and took his hand. "No, and I am still not entirely sure if I regret that or not," she replied. Seeing the hurt flash across his face, she explained. "It's not that I didn't trust you then … but I honestly didn't trust _myself_. I didn't trust myself to be able to hold in all the rest of the feelings I had for you, all the love that I'd realized I was harboring in my heart. I know myself well, Charles, and I recognized that once I'd let you in, let you see how frightened I was at that time, I'd have opened myself up to having you see _everything_. I didn't think we were ready for that yet."

"You didn't think that _I_ was ready for that yet, you mean."

Elsie sighed. "Perhaps," she replied with a whisper. "Were you?"

Charles sat back and pondered the thought. "I'm not sure," he said honestly. "The only things about that entire time that I _am_ sure of are that I was terrified to lose you and that, when I found out it _wasn't_ cancer, I was suddenly quite aware of how much I loved you."

She smiled up at him. "Would you mind giving me a few moments alone?"

"Of course," Charles answered, rising from the chair and kissing her on the head one more time. "Would you like me to phone the hospital for you?"

Elsie chuckled, seeing how he cringed at the offer as it passed through his lips. She knew he abhorred having a telephone in the cottage and had only had it installed at her insistence. The thought of having their grandchild overnight in their cottage, which was well-removed from neighboring homes, had been what pushed them to it. But Elsie wasn't sure Charles could manage conveying over the phone what needed to be said, not without breaking down, and she needed him to remain strong for the time being; Lord knew, she was terrified enough for the both of them right now. "No, I will do it when I'm finished here."

Charles just nodded, leaving the room and closing the door behind him, moving swiftly back downstairs before his ears could pick up on the sound of weeping that his mind automatically expected to hear shortly.

Elsie let out the breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, settled herself down into the tub, and finally let her tears flow, trying to shed all of the frustration and anger and fear she'd been feeling since the moment she'd seen the truth in Charles's eyes, moments before he'd spoken the words that had drowned that blissful feeling with which she'd woken only a couple of hours ago.


	4. The Nearness of You

**A/N: I've wanted to fic something for this song for ages. It was never intended to be** _ **here**_ **, but the words wouldn't leave me alone – they kept whispering in my ear and, hey, it fits.**

 ****I am not a medical professional AT ALL, and I've taken some liberties with how Elsie's original situation played out in canon, I think. Please pardon any errors or inconsistencies in both that and anything medical, as well as typographic errors – not beta'd.**

 **Trigger warning for health/cancer scare.**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **When I'm in your arms**_

 _ **And I feel you so close to me …**_

 _ **I need no soft lights to enchant me**_

 _ **If you would only grant me**_

 _ **The right to hold you ever so tight**_

 _ **And to feel in the night**_

 _ **The nearness of you.**_

 _ **~ "The Nearness of You," by Norah Jones**_

* * *

Elsie returned the phone earpiece to its cradle just as Charles entered the study.

"Isobel said to come by at eleven. It's the only opening they have until tomorrow, and since it's up against Richard's luncheon hour there's a bit of leeway should we need more time than planned," she said.

Charles hummed his approval. "Good, that gives us about two hours including the time to get there. What would you like to do?" They had planned to take a visit to the Bates' cottage to see Brenna as it was Anna's half day, but Elsie had called to cancel, saying she wasn't feeling well. _Not a lie, really._

Elsie looked at him for a moment, an eyebrow raised as she contemplated just _how much_ time they really had … _no, not quite enough,_ she thought with a smirk. He caught the look, his eyes widening in an unasked question.

She shook her head and sighed. The truth of the matter was that Elsie couldn't bear being alone for the next two hours, and she really just needed Charles by her side, steady as always. "How about a walk down to the lake?" she offered.

Charles nodded and made to follow her as they headed outside. It was a pleasantly warm and sunny autumn day so they decided to leave their coats behind.

The walk to the lake was a familiar one now, and Elsie took a moment to notice how the vegetation was changing over the course of the season. There were berries out that she'd not spotted last week and her mind was distracted by the changing leaves – shades of yellow dominated at the moment, but in a couple more weeks she expected the area to be almost aflame in the sunlight as the golden tones would then be competing with reds and oranges, a bit of evergreen splashed in between. She favored the brief time of year when they were mixed like that, not entirely green but not entirely changed over, either. She paused now and then, taking in the beauty of their little piece of heaven here on earth.

They arrived at the lake's shore and Charles took a seat in one corner of the bench that sat there. He tilted his body sideways, making space for Elsie to curl up against him. She slipped off her shoes and tucked her feet up underneath her skirt, placing her head on his chest, and Charles just wrapped her up in his arms. They sat in silence for almost half an hour, each lost in their own thoughts.

Elsie was the first to break the silence. "What are you thinking about? I mean, specifically?"

"At this very moment?"

She nodded.

"I'm thinking of how my arm is asleep and I need to move," he half-teased.

"Oh, you," she admonished jokingly, swatting at his chest. She sat up and away from him a bit, allowing him to shift his position and move his arm down by his side. When he'd settled she put her feet down and slipped them back into her shoes, returning to his side to wrap his big arm inside of hers in a tight hug. She reached up to plant a kiss on his lips, then moved back and rested her head on his shoulder.

" _Besides_ that, you daft man."

He thought for a moment before answering. "I'm _afraid_ , Elsie, and I won't deny it. I wish I could keep you curled up next to me like this forever, let nothing harm you again." He took a deep, shaky breath. "Just before you asked, I was thinking of how glad I am that we've cultivated a friendship with Richard and Isobel, because I think that will make this entire experience a bit easier for me to deal with. Having people to ask questions of, to talk to, people who have had those conversations with families before. People I trust to take care of you."

Elsie knew her husband better than anyone else in the world, and yet she was still somewhat astonished at his frank admission. Charles Carson typically wasn't a man to discuss relationships in general, and his acknowledging the importance of their friends at this particular time was a bold statement, one which spoke to his own self-awareness in a way that he rarely mentioned. The fact that he was talking to _her_ about his fears was significant; the fact that he planned on discussing the entire, very personal experience with someone _else_ was, well, _monumental._ And when he uttered the word "families," her heart sang. _Yes, we ARE a little family after all_.

"I'm proud of you, you know, and you've no idea how happy I am to hear what you're saying … how happy I am to hear that you were thinking of yourself, of your _own_ fears, and not just me and what's in _my_ head. That is rather significant, I think. We've come quite a long way in quite a short time, haven't we?"

"We have." A pause, then he continued. "I'll need to be strong so that you don't have to be and, for that, I'll need to know exactly what lies ahead."

"Good," she answered, meaning it wholeheartedly. She _would_ let him be strong for her and, at that precise moment she realized that Elsie Carson was, indeed, a _vastly_ different person from whom Elsie Hughes had been.

oOoOoOoOo

"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Carson," Richard said, setting a formality for the appointment in just a few, succinct words. He'd been in the waiting room talking to Isobel and another nurse as Elsie and Charles made their way through the door just before eleven o'clock.

"Dr. Clarkson," Charles replied, tilting his head in acknowledgement. The formality was good, in a way, a barrier around all of their feelings. Each person in that room, including the younger nurse, was aware of the nature of this visit but also of the strength of the friendship that had developed between the Carsons and the doctor and head nurse. Richard valued this friendship immensely and he knew it would be almost impossible for him to deliver bad news to his friends if, indeed, the situation called for it. He'd made the decision to put forth his best doctor's persona in order to distance himself from them as _friends_ and remind himself that they were now _a patient and her husband_ , years of experience telling him that the decision would allow them all to make it through the appointment as easily as possible.

"Thank you for seeing us so quickly," Elsie said quietly.

Isobel spoke up then. "It was no trouble, really. Would you like to come with me? Mr. Carson can remain here, if you wish?"

"No," Elsie replied, looking at her husband. "Please … come with me?"

Charles stood a bit taller at that, a bit _prouder_ that she wanted him by her side. "Of course," he said, placing his hand at the small of her back as they headed into the examining room. He helped Elsie remove her coat and, when Isobel had stepped out, he helped Elsie out of her dress and into the flimsy hospital gown that had been left on the bed.

Isobel and Richard returned after about five minutes, during which time Charles and Elsie had held an entire, wordless conversation, the general tone of which went something like:

 _I'm afraid._

 _Me, too. But we're here TOGETHER._

 _I know. I'm so grateful for that._

 _I love you._

 _I love you, too._

Isobel and Richard returned to find Elsie seated on the examination bed and Charles in the chair he'd pulled up next to it, her left hand grasped in his right, their fingers entwined. Richard washed his hands, taking the moment to steady them and focus his thoughts.

When he approached Elsie's bedside, he gave her a comforting smile. "I'm sure you remember how this goes, Mrs. Carson, but I'd like to run through it all again for Mr. Carson's benefit, if that's alright?"

She nodded. "Yes, please. It's very important to _both_ of us that you be as detailed as possible."

"Of course. I'm going to examine you first to see where the lump is located. Given your history with this in the past, I'm somewhat confident that it will prove to be another benign cyst. It's not uncommon for women who have had one in the past to find another at some point, particularly once they've passed the age of menopause. It's safe to say that the odds are on our side that it is _not_ cancer, and I'll be taking a sample of the fluid to have it analyzed. The good news is that we now have the capability to do that here in our own hospital, by a pathologist who visits twice a month – something that Nurse Crawley advocated for quite strongly, I'm not ashamed to admit. So we'll have your results a week from tomorrow at the very latest, and sooner if I can get the pathologist in here _this_ week. If he's available, he'll come if I ask."

Elsie nodded, turning to see how Charles was managing. She recognized immediately what she would always referred to in her mind as his "butler face," which he would put up over his true self as a form of protection in situations where he had to maintain his composure. But when she looked at his eyes, she relaxed; she saw that he was, for the most part, fairly calm at the moment. He returned her gaze and, with one blink of his eyes, sent her silent confirmation that he was coping just fine with the information so far.

"Alright then, let's have you lie down and we'll see what we have here," Richard said. Knowing the routine by now, Elsie slid her arm out of the gown's sleeve before laying completely back. She raised her arm up over her head and laid it on the pillow; her other hand remained grasped tightly in her husband's, and Richard had to swallow a slight lump in his throat as he noticed his friend gently caressing the back of Elsie's hand with his thumb, the only bit of comfort he was allowing himself to give her at this time. Turning his attention back to Elsie, he continued speaking as he moved the gown over to uncover her right breast.

"I'm going to examine the breast tissue now, Mrs. Carson. Can you show me where you felt the lump?"

Elsie took her hand from Charles for a moment and pointed at the general area, indicating where the mass was to Richard, and then returned her fingers to her husband's grasp. Charles watched as Richard explored the area, expecting to find himself rather put off by the sight of another man – and one he respected and liked at that – touching his wife's body but, in the end, he was _grateful_ that it was Richard, someone he trusted implicitly, as opposed to a doctor he didn't know at all.

Richard explored the area with his fingertips, rattling off medical terminology about the feel and size of the lump to Isobel, who was recording them on Elsie's chart. To her credit, Isobel looked completely removed from the situation emotionally, and Elsie was struck once again at how wonderful a nurse the woman really was. Isobel had left nursing for quite a while, only returning to the hospital after she and Richard had become, well, _closer_ – around the time when Anna and John had welcomed Brenna into the world. Elsie had always had a talent from separating her emotions from whatever task was at hand, but she recognized once again that Isobel had that talent in spades.

"Nurse Crawley, would you prepare a syringe, please?" Richard asked. Isobel nodded, then disappeared behind a screen in the corner of the room – _a nurse's station,_ Charles assumed.

"I'm going to disinfect the skin around where we'll be inserting the needle," Richard explained, mostly for Charles's benefit. "Mrs. Carson, do you wish to forego the local anesthetic again?"

Elsie nodded. "Yes, if you please. I'm aware that this will be painful, but I think I'd prefer that to something unknown."

Richard just nodded, and noticed Charles's confusion. "There have been great advances in topical anesthesia in the recent past, Mr. Carson, but there is always a risk of potential side-effects." Charles nodded in understanding, then turned his attention back to Elsie. He moved his hand slightly so that she could better grasp it, and she squeezed it gently and gave him a loving smile of thanks.

"Alright then," Richard said quietly. "Here we go … "

Elsie gasped slightly, wincing as the needle (which Charles could only think of as being _abnormally large_ ) passed through her skin as she tightened her grip on her husband's hand. Richard was moving incredibly slowly, needing to be attentive to the feel of the cyst under the needle's tip. Once he'd located it, he slowly drew back the plunger, and Charles was shocked to see the clarity of the liquid that was filling the vial. He wasn't sure _what_ he expected it to look like – cloudy or bloody or even yellowish, perhaps – but he certainly didn't expect it to be _clear_. _Surely that's a GOOD thing,_ he hoped.

"The fluid is clear, Mrs. Carson, which is a good sign," Richard said, completely unaware of voicing her husband's thoughts aloud.

"So I may not need to have the lump removed?"

Richard withdrew the needle and Isobel tended to the injection site as he set the syringe onto an empty metal tray. "Why don't we let Nurse Crawley help you up, and then we can chat once you're dressed." Elsie nodded, and Richard left them alone. Isobel wiped Elsie's skin and applied a light plaster to the area, then left the couple alone so that Elsie could get dressed.

"This is so much easier and less painful now that I've left that infernal corset behind," she muttered. Charles mumbled non-committedly, helping her to do up the buttons of her dress. "Shall we?" he asked, offering her his hand as she slid off the examining table.

"Thank you, love," came her quiet reply. They made their way out of the exam room and headed to the chairs facing Richard's desk; at this point, Isobel was nowhere to be found, something which puzzled Elsie but which she brushed aside. They sat and waited to hear what Richard had to say.

"As I said, the fluid does, indeed, look clear; however, given your history, it may be advisable to go ahead and perform an excision of the lump itself. We can wait for confirmation of the pathology report, but I'm fairly certain it's _not_ cancer." He paused a moment, clearly a bit uncomfortable with what he had to say next. "That said, I'm guessing that this was a rather … _fast-growing_ cyst?" Richard looked pointedly into Elsie's eyes, trying his hardest to ignore Charles as realization dawned about exactly what his words were asking.

To his credit, Charles only managed a faint flush and was able to keep the butler face fully intact. As Elsie was the one Richard had addressed, her husband felt he should let _her_ answer the question. It dawned on Charles that Richard intended it to be that way, to let Elsie take charge where Charles would be most uncomfortable. It was one thing to have his good friend examining his wife's breast in the sterile, impersonal environment of a hospital room; it was quite another to discuss their marital relations with the man.

"I would say so," Elsie replied tactfully, nibbling on her bottom lip. "It went unnoticed until last night which, given its size, was rather a surprise to both of us." _Dear God in heaven, please make this conversation end quickly!_

"Yes, I'd thought as much. Should it continue to grow, I'd definitely recommend excision. It's your call – we can schedule that even before the pathology report comes back, if you like."

Elsie looked at Charles, needing his advice and support. She turned back to Richard and said, "Could you give us a moment, please?"

"Of course," he replied, rising from his desk. "Just pop your head through when you're ready."

The strangeness of watching the man leave them alone in _his_ office didn't faze either of the Carsons. Charles looked at Elsie, the question in his eyes even before he spoke. "What do you think?"

"I'm not sure," she replied slowly. "It seems prudent to be done with it entirely, and the last time I went through this there were … complications, sort of." She saw the look of alarm pass across his face and was quick to reassure him. "A minor infection – nothing serious, just annoying really, probably due mostly to that damned corset. I needed to be working, and it was rather inconvenient all around. Beryl helped me with the worst of it, the cleaning and such, when I couldn't manage it, but it would have been much easier if I'd been able to simply stay abed for a few days."

"Well, that's no concern now, Els. I'm happy to do whatever needs to be done, and you've got all the time in the world to rest and recuperate. But it's your decision – it's your body, not mine."

Elsie couldn't help it – after hours of holding it together, she felt herself tear up. _This won't do,_ she chided herself. "Mr. Carson … how very _modern_ of you!" she teased, trying desperately not to dissolve into a mess of tears just yet. _Will he never cease to amaze me?_

"Yes, well, I do keep trying to tell you that," he grumbled, a twinkle in his eye. "Shall I let him know you've reached a decision?"

"Yes, please."

Charles exited the room and returned immediately with Richard _and_ Isobel in tow. One look at the woman told Elsie she'd been crying, but she'd managed to compose herself since. _Ah, yes, THERE'S my friend Isobel, and not the Nurse Crawley we saw before._ Elsie found that as much as she'd appreciated the formal atmosphere of the examination, she appreciated having her _friends_ back at her side now even more.

"I'd like to schedule removal of the cyst as soon as possible," Elsie said determinedly. "I see no point in waiting to see if it will grow more, fearful every day that it could be getting worse, turning into something else. And I presume the smaller the lump is, the easier the removal would be?"

"In most ways, yes," Richard answered. "Location matters as well, but this would be a fairly easy removal."

"And _you_ will perform the procedure, here, correct?" Elsie verified.

"Yes, if you wish," Richard continued carefully. "If, however, you'd prefer a doctor who is not associated with Downton …"

"No! That is, no thank you," Elsie stammered. "No, it must be you, if you're willing. I'd be much more comfortable if it were," she finished quietly.

"Alright then. We'll get you scheduled in, and I'll see about the pathologist." At that point, Richard reached over his desk, taking Elsie's free hand in his. "We'll take care of this, Elsie, just like last time. I promise, as long as the pathology report is clear and you've got excellent follow-up care which," he glanced at Charles, then returned his eyes to Elsie and winked, "I'm _sure_ you'll have, you'll be just fine."

Charles wondered how Richard could make that promise but, upon seeing the comfort it brought to his wife's face, he bit his tongue and said nothing at all.

It was going to be a long few days.

oOoOoOoOo

Elsie's surgery was scheduled for the following Monday, five days after the initial appointment, but the pathologist was indeed available to visit the hospital and analyze the fluid Richard had taken from the cyst prior to that. The results showed conclusively that the mass was _not_ cancerous, but Elsie was determined to move forward with the procedure. Richard had touched upon what had seemed odd to her as well: the lump seemed to come out of nowhere, and Elise just wanted it _out_ as soon as possible.

She and Charles spent the days and nights leading up to her procedure in a hazy existence, each feeling an almost primal need to remain physically close to one another, more intensely now than ever before. During the day they visited a few friends but spent most of their time alone, taking walks and picnics by the lake and passing lazy afternoons reading to one another as they sat chest-to-back in the tub; at night, they took comfort in one another's embraces, both gentle and passionate, taking advantage of opportunities to be together in ways that would be impossible during the long days that would follow Elsie's surgery. She experienced only minor pain following the removal of the fluid, something else for which she was immensely grateful, and after a couple of days only a small bruise remained. They'd told only Anna and Beryl about the situation for the time being: Anna so that they could visit with Brenna but then beg off of childcare duties until Elsie felt up to them, and Beryl because she'd been the one who'd stood by Elsie's side during her first trip down this path to hell. Both women were supportive and encouraging, and Elsie appreciated their ability to rein in their own emotions to spare her any more worry of her own.

oOoOoOoOo

Monday finally arrived, and Elsie and Charles headed to the hospital in fairly good spirits following a surprisingly good night's sleep. _Well, I suppose it's not all THAT surprising,_ Elsie thought with a smile. They'd managed, at Elsie's insistence, to prepare a great deal of things ahead of time so as to be able to relax for at least the next week: the larder was stocked with ingredients that Charles was quite adept at turning into edible meals thanks to a few past lessons from Beryl, and all of the cleaning and washing was done, spare sheets and towels at the ready in case they were needed while Elsie was on her forced bed rest. She tried explaining that she would, in fact, be able to _move about_ , but Charles would hear nothing of the sort. _Fine,_ she thought, _let him be in charge. It's quite nice, really._

Elsie was greeted at the hospital by Isobel, who dropped the formal tone of the previous appointment and simply grabbed her friend's hand tightly, placing a gentle kiss to her cheek. "You know you'll be just fine, and Richard will take exceptionally good care of you while you're under." Elsie nodded, remembering everything she'd been told. She'd had no food that morning, just in case the anesthesia made her ill. She'd be under a couple of hours while the surgery was performed, and Charles would be allowed to sit at her bedside as soon as it was over. It was that thought more than any other that really steadied Elsie as she allowed herself to be led away, leaving Charles behind with her hat, coat, and handbag in his arms.

"You can wait here if you like," Richard said to him, "but, if you care to step out for a bit, it'll be a couple of hours before she's in recovery."

Charles shook his head, then approached his friend. "Do you promise me that she'll be alright?" he asked quietly. It was the first time he voiced his fear since that very first morning when he'd sat on the bench by the lake with Elsie, and he hoped it hadn't come across as an insult given that Richard was performing the procedure himself.

"Judging from past experience, yes, she'll be fine. I'll send Isobel to fetch you as soon as it's possible."

Charles nodded, heading for a chair in the waiting room and opening the copy of Great Expectations that he'd brought along ( _Elsie's copy, of course_ ); he wasn't sure why he had it, really, because he knew he'd barely be able to focus on it at all. It would be an interminable time waiting, but there was no way on earth he would leave that hospital while his wife was there.

oOoOoOoOo

Elsie woke slowly, her eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. _Ohhhh, my head._ She moved to rub her temple with her hand, realizing too late that she was in hospital and that she most certainly did _not_ want to lift her right arm at the moment. Moaning softly, she turned her head to see Charles looking lovingly at her.

"Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty. I've missed you," he said, leaning over to place a soft kiss on her cheek.

"I've missed _you_. Did everything go as planned?"

"Yes, you did wonderfully. Richard assures me that he was able to remove the entire cyst and some surrounding tissue that he wants to have analyzed as a precaution, but he said it all looked just fine. You are stitched up and set to go home as soon as he feels the anesthesia has worn off enough, although he mentioned you could spend the night here if it would be easier."

"Absolutely not!" she said, then winced in pain. "Have you received instructions as to how to tend to the wound?"

Charles patted his pocket. "All here, and she walked me through each step while you were still sleeping. She's got a steady hand but, then again, mine aren't too shabby either if I do say so myself."

"Funny, I was recently reflecting on that very thing." She started to chuckle, but then cringed as the sound bounced off of her temples in a fury.

"So, how's your head?"

"It feels like I've been in a pub fight," she said honestly, "and lost. _Badly_."

Charles laughed at that – _still that spunk_ , he thought happily. _Yes, we're going to be just fine._ He squeezed his wife's hand, and sent another prayer of thanks up to the skies. Charles never thought he'd be as happy as he was on his wedding day, but damn if this moment wasn't a very, _very_ close second.


	5. This Is Not Goodbye

**Soooo … THIS wasn't how this chapter was going to go originally, but it just kind of showed up uninvited and, in reality, it's probably something realistic. Song choice for the first 90% is "This Is Not Goodbye," and is on my Spotify playlist "Music of Our Lives." Do give it a listen – very powerful song dealing with the aftermath of breast cancer surgery. While the Elsie here did** _ **not**_ **have cancer, some of the repercussions of her own experience would be similar, I think.**

 **The last 10% is a nod to a long-ago request from the lovely brenna-louise, who graciously beta'd this chapter to let me know I'd not totally gone off the deep end writing it.**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _I go to meet some kind of test_

 _Bury the truth that scars my chest…_

 _I must go away_

 _Wait for me here, silently stay_

 _And don't ask me why_

 _Only believe this is not goodbye._

" _ **This Is Not Goodbye," by Melissa Etheridge**_

* * *

It had been several weeks since Elsie's procedure and, while she was healing nicely physically, there was undoubtedly something amiss. Charles felt a strange distance between them, like a mist was hanging about and sucking all of the _ease_ out of their relationship and leaving in its wake something slightly … less, he supposed, something altogether foreign. He couldn't identify its exact cause, as though it were a fleeting thing that rested just outside the edge of his consciousness, and he was trying his level best to hold himself together.

They chatted about meaningless things these days, and she spent most of her time reading and resting. She'd moved down to the parlour after spending two weeks in bed upstairs. Charles was dismayed that she now spent a fair amount of time curled up in her armchair by the fire as she was doing at the present moment, despite their previous habit of barely _ever_ using the armchairs because they'd always preferred sharing the sofa. Charles did keep pushing Elsie to rest, and he realized he might be coddling her a bit much, but if she felt that way she never said … something else that was completely foreign to him, his Elsie not offering an opinion about _anything_ lately. He saw the irony of the situation, of course: he'd been so confident and steady when Elsie was actually _in_ hospital, but now that she was out all of those feelings had fled, leaving him unsure in the one place on earth he'd always felt the most at home – by her side, shut away in their beloved cottage.

As he watched her reading, Charles pondered that part of the problem seemed to be that they really _were_ shut away from the world lately. With the sole exception of Isobel, Elsie had allowed no visitors during her recuperation, and Isobel only made it past the door because she was Elsie's nurse. Elsie had been instructed not to wear anything but the loosest of her blouses and nothing underneath as her wound was healing, and she refused to entertain anyone in that state of undress. Charles handled anything involving lifting: the cooking, the cleaning, even physically helping Elsie to do things like wash herself during those first couple of weeks. He knew he'd been sleeping restlessly ever since her procedure because he was constantly afraid he'd move and jostle her harmfully in the night. He was trying his best to be both nursemaid and husband, but this new emotional separation he and Elsie were experiencing mixed with the uncharacteristic silence from his typically quick-witted wife was all becoming too much to bear on top of his exhaustion. Part of him wanted to ask her about it, but he was hesitant to make her uncomfortable. Part of him thought it was how marriage ended up for everyone: an intense, loving, fiery beginning that slowly waned over time. It had been a few months, perhaps the intensity was wearing down. He pondered that for a moment, unsure of its validity, not realizing he'd been caught out by his wife.

Elsie looked up at her husband, noticing the furrow to his brow. "Charles? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, love … I'm just a bit tired, I think."

"I'm sure you are, you've been working double-time these days. Why don't you go on up? I think I'll stay down here awhile but, please, don't stay up on my account."

Charles looked at her, _really_ looked at her, and was nervous to find that she looked a bit peaked and that he couldn't read her expression very well at all. "If you'd rather some time alone, Elsie, you only need to ask."

"No, it's not that," she said quietly, "but I can tell you've not been sleeping well. Why don't you get a head start, alright?" She smiled at him, but he noticed the sparkle in her eyes was missing.

Charles rose from his chair and added more wood to the fire. He checked the locks, tidied up the kitchen, and returned to the parlour to kiss his wife goodnight. As he bent forward, Elsie turned her face slightly away and Charles found his lips headed for the softness of her cheek. _Again_. With a sigh, Charles kissed it tenderly, then reached out for her face, cupping it in his warm hand.

"Elsie? Is everything alright? I've not … I've not done something _wrong_ , have I?"

She looked at him, startled. "Of course not! Why would you ask such a thing? You've done such a marvelous job taking care of me, Charles. I'm feeling rather useless these days, I suppose, and I think it's catching up to me is all. _Go to bed_. I'll be up shortly, I promise."

"I shall. Do you need any help before I do?"

Elsie shook her head, knowing he was concerned about the plaster that still remained, wondering if she needed any assistance with it. "No, I'm fine until tomorrow, but thank you for asking."

"Good night, then."

"Good night, Charles."

Elsie watched her husband head to bed. She could tell something was bothering him, and she had a fairly good idea of what it was. The poor, dear man had gone head-first into everything, being not only a housemaid but also a cook and nurse to his wife. And bless him, he'd done it all without any complaint or begrudging of one single, solitary task. But Elsie could tell he wasn't sleeping well and that bothered her in and of itself as he'd become quite a heavy sleeper since entering his retirement.

Elsie knew she was withdrawn at times and she couldn't help it, but it seemed to be upsetting her husband and that just made her sadder still. She couldn't pinpoint the source of her unease to herself, let alone him. They knew she didn't have cancer – the results from the surrounding tissue testing showed nothing out of the ordinary at all – but the fear from going through the entire experience again had taken the stuffing out of her. And what was more, the procedure itself had been more involved this time – more painful, a bit more of her body sacrificed, a longer recovery period, and no job with which to distract herself. _Not that you could do anything anyhow, so be thankful for THAT at least._

The scarring looked atrocious to Elsie and she was horrified every day that she examined it in the mirror. Puckered and pink, looking more uncomfortable than it actually was some days, such a large part … _missing_ , she supposed was the word. That was really it – she felt as if a much larger part of herself was missing, much more than what Richard had physically removed. She felt quite undesirable, and Charles had not laid one hand on her save for changing her bandaging and dressing. A small part of Elsie's brain registered that this may just be his thoughtfulness, his attentiveness to her comfort, but the much larger part that kept telling her it had to do with a lack of beauty, of something changed, of never being _desirable_ again … well, that part was winning her over more and more with every day that passed. After all, it's not like her entire _body_ was damaged in any way, and this past week she'd certainly noticed that the pain was all but gone unless she applied direct pressure to the site. Yes, their lack of intimacy seemed to be at the core of her bad feelings, and there didn't seem to be anything to be done about it. She certainly couldn't tell Charles about it because then she'd never be sure if any affections she received would be out of simple pity as opposed to the complete honesty they'd always had between them. But it wasn't like him to be so … distant.

 _And this is why it would have, in some ways, been better if he'd never known … just like last time,_ Elsie thought, furious with herself even as the idea passed through her mind because she knew it wasn't fair. If the shoe had been on the other foot, if _Charles_ had been ill, had needed some procedure or other, Elsie knew it wouldn't change how she felt about him. _But that's not the same, is it? It's different for women … for THIS._

The whole situation was frustrating beyond belief, and Elsie was trying so very hard to hold herself together. Charles had been taking control of both their lives since she'd had her procedure done, and the last thing she wanted was to burden him with anything else. No, she'd keep her frustration to herself, thank you very much. She'd dig herself out of this melancholy state once she could move about and start doing things again which, hopefully, she'd be allowed after speaking with Isobel this afternoon. Whether or not the _physical_ aspect of her marriage could get back to even some small semblance of the way it had been remained to be seen.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Isobel knocked lightly on the Carsons' door before entering. "Hello?" she called out. She hadn't expected Charles to be home at all, knowing he now had an appointment in town, and was happy to see Elsie dozing on the sofa. She quietly shut the door behind herself and headed to the kitchen to prepare tea. Ordinarily she'd never dream of entering someone's home unless expressly invited, but sometimes when Charles wasn't home Elsie wouldn't hear the knock, or she'd be asleep, and they'd long since dispensed with the formality of the "Please come in" when Elsie had an appointment. Isobel was thrilled to be able to offer her friend the comfort of coming to her own home, and Elsie was relieved that she did not have to venture into town every three days to be checked.

As Isobel filled the kettle, she braced herself for the conversation she planned to have with her friend today. Elsie had healed quite nicely and, quite frankly, Isobel was astounded that she'd refused any pain medication save for a basic powder when she was truly feeling miserable. She'd managed to stay in bed or, more recently, seated in the parlour, and that had helped her healing immensely. Isobel had no concerns whatsoever for her friend's _physical_ state, but rather for Elsie's emotional state. She'd expected Elsie to be somewhat reserved and fatigued during her recovery; as both she and Elsie knew, sitting still for days on end could be more tiring than working from dawn 'til dusk. But for the past week, Isobel had noticed that the stress of Elsie having to be still and calm (and Charles being everything _but_ ) was taking its toll on the couple. She had a feeling there was something much more basic behind that stress she'd observed, though, something that had to be addressed, and Elsie wasn't going to like it. Isobel felt she had the best shot at getting through, though, if she used her "nurse" persona first and then buffered it with their friendship. She hoped.

"Charles?" came Elsie's groggy voice from the sofa.

"No dear, it's Isobel. I took the liberty of letting myself in and making us some tea. I hope you don't mind?"

"No, not at all," Elsie replied, sitting up and rubbing a hand over her face. "There are some biscuits on the counter that Charles picked up this morning if you'd like." She rose from the sofa and headed into the kitchen.

"Care to give me a hand?" Isobel ventured.

Elsie heard the trepidation in her friend's voice, chalking it up to the strangeness that Isobel had just asked Elsie to help with something in her own home. "Of course. Actually, Isobel, I've been _craving_ the chance to do _anything_ in this house, but I've not been _allowed_ to," Elsie huffed.

Isobel just shook her head slightly. "No, I presume you haven't. He must be driving you mad."

"Oh, you've _no_ idea! It was lovely when I could barely move – _truly,_ it was – but now it's like I've gotten no better at all! All I do is spend the day reading and knitting. I did manage to sneak out into the garden yesterday for a bit, but Charles was afraid I'd tire myself out walking around and pruning the roses and asked me to come back in and 'rest.' Honestly! I've had enough rest to see me through until next Christmas! And all it's doing is making me _more_ tired than I already was – or, in my case, _wasn't_!"

Isobel smiled, and reached over to squeeze Elsie's arm. "He's worried about you, of course. Have you explained to him how much better you're feeling? Surely he's _seen_ the improvement in the incision itself, how well it's healed?"

Elsie pursed her lips together in frustration. "Oh, of course he's seen it. I still can't really manage to change the dressing on my own, even if it is practically just a plaster at this point, as I can't quite see the exact spot without touching it. But …" she trailed off.

"But?"

Elsie sighed. "It's so … _clinical_ , I suppose. And not terribly _pleasant_ to look at …" She blushed at that, and her gaze turned downward. "Not quite the way one wants to consider one's wife, I imagine."

"Oh, Elsie," Isobel said quietly, "you don't think that it … well … makes him think any _less_ of you, do you? As a woman, I mean?" _Oh, this is not how I wanted this conversation to go AT ALL_ , she chided herself silently.

"Well, I can see that he can barely stand to be near it!" Elsie spat, furious with herself as she lost her rein on the emotions that had been building up inside of her these past several weeks. Her eyes brimmed with angry tears, and she stood quickly and walked to the sink, looking out the window and trying to regain control of herself, her voice dying down to almost a whisper. "The expression on his face when he sees it, I can tell he hates to even have to look at it."

Isobel said nothing. She could tell Elsie needed a moment, and so she began to pour the tea and set biscuits on each of their plates. After a moment, Elsie turned back to face her, but didn't sit at the table. "I apologize, Isobel. You've been nothing but wonderful to me – to us both, truly – but I can't bear to have this conversation just now."

"But you _must_ bear it, Elsie," Isobel countered, turning to face Elsie. She looked her friend directly in the eyes, pursing her lips, and sighed loudly. "I know how you feel, if you'd believe it."

"Pardon me for saying so, but I don't think –" Elsie started, but Isobel cut her off.

"But you see, I _do_. I've been where you're standing, albeit many years ago, and I _can_ imagine some of what you're feeling." She gave a bitter laugh. "I can tell you, it feels worse when your husband is your doctor."

Elsie's eyes widened. "But … you never said a word."

Isobel shook her head. "No, I didn't, because it wasn't my place at the time. This has been _your_ struggle, _your_ fear, _your_ situation. You didn't need to be worrying about how _I_ might react to it all, and I know you – you would have, without question."

The women stared at one another for several moments, the actual silence between them almost drowned out by the words their eyes exchanged. Slowly, Isobel got up from the table. "Follow me, Elsie - please."

Elsie did as she was asked, following Isobel into the study. Isobel held the door for Elsie but then shut it behind her. Before Elsie could voice her protest, Isobel silenced her with a glance. Reaching up, she unbuttoned her blouse and pulled the material forward. "Can you see it?"

Though uncomfortable, and trying desperately to remember that this woman was now her friend and not simply related to her former employer, Elsie forced her eyes to the spot Isobel was indicating on the front of her chest. She couldn't help the slight gasp that escaped her lips, and prayed she'd not offended Isobel with it.

"Oh, Isobel, I do so wish you'd told me earlier. I don't know why, really, but … well, I wish I'd known. I might have felt, well, less … alone, I think." She shook her head. "Not that I'd ever have asked you to share something so personal with me. I'm sorry, I'm rather out of sorts lately, please forgive me."

"Well, now you know. It was nothing horrible, quite a similar situation to yours, actually, only it was obviously a slightly different procedure back then, more … well, _disfiguring_ is the word I'm guessing one uses in one's own head now, isn't it? Something along those lines?"

Elsie nodded, grateful that she didn't seem to need words to reply. She turned slightly away as Isobel fastened her buttons and tucked her blouse back in.

"So, now that you have seen it, I can tell you first-hand, Elsie … it's not the end of the world. It wasn't for my marriage, and it won't be for yours." She walked over to where Elsie stood, took her hands, and looked into her friend's eyes. "That man _loves_ you," she said emphatically. "He worships the ground you walk on, and hasn't been able to take his eyes off of you since you married – well, since long _before_ that, really – and this isn't going to change that. But you have to let him in, Elsie. You have to let him see that it _will_ be alright. He's been doing his best to give you space, but now you're shutting him out."

"Oh, Isobel," Elsie whispered. "I know I have been, and I've not meant it. I just … oh, I'm not sure. I hid somewhere inside my head, I think, starting from when he first found the lump. I was fine, really, until I came home from the hospital. I could not stand being so _helpless_. It was the first time all over again, and while I'm glad I've had Charles and his love and support this time around the feelings were still the same deep down: I didn't want to be a sick woman in his eyes. Sometimes it feels that we've wasted so much time we could have had together that I couldn't bear to feel that I was taking more of that away."

"In sickness and health, you said, didn't you? So … prove you _meant_ it. Don't waste _this_ time. Make it easier for him. _Talk_ to him. I promise, you'll not regret it. If I am sure of anything, it's that he's waiting to see that you are comfortable with everything. He's giving you space. Just be sure that space gets smaller as the days go on."

"I shall … _I promise_. Now let's get back to that tea before it's completely stone cold."

 _Well_ , thought Isobel, _that's one of them sorted. Hopefully Richard is just as lucky with Charles._

oOoOoOoOoOo

Charles headed into town, his mind everywhere but on the items he needed from the market. He had to pick up a few things for tomorrow's breakfast, but Isobel had passed him on her way up to the cottage and had mentioned that Richard would like a chance to speak with him.

Charles knew very well that this wasn't to be a social call, not exactly. Isobel was a shrewd woman and Charles could tell that she sensed something was amiss. Although he was grateful that she'd not asked him about it directly, he secretly hoped she'd address it with _Elsie_. His wife wasn't often willing to confide in anyone about personal things, but he knew she felt something of a kinship with Isobel Crawley, one that had developed in a somewhat awkward way when the Carsons had been employed at the Abbey but one that, over the past several months since Brenna's birth, had grown considerably dearer to them both. He chalked it up to the women being roughly the same age and of the same mindset when it came to progressive ideas. Both women had enormous hearts and were at their very nature kind and helpful to all, sometimes to a fault. He smiled at the memory of that business with Grigg, something that only his great fondness for Elsie could make him think of with anything less than disdain.

Charles and Richard, on the other hand, had a more subdued friendship. _But it IS a friendship_ , Charles reminded himself. He had precious few true friends, and really none outside of the Abbey itself except for Richard and Isobel. This entire business with Elsie had given Charles a greater appreciation for the _man_ who sat behind the doctor's desk, and he was grateful for it. But somehow this "meeting" made him uneasy. Charles couldn't help but feel that he was heading for a scolding with the headmaster without knowing what he'd done wrong.

He arrived at the hospital and was surprised to see Richard outside.

"Slow day at the office?" Charles asked with a smile.

"Thankfully, yes. Those are always welcome, for a variety of reasons, but I like to get out for a bit into the fresh air when I can." Richard replied. "Isobel managed to speak with you, I take it?"

Charles nodded. "Yes, she asked me to stop by and see you. Elsie is doing quite well, you know."

"So I've heard. Provided that things look as I expect, she should be able to resume her normal level of activity gradually over the next week, and be totally back to normal by the end of the month."

"Well, that's good news," Charles said. "I'm sure she'll be happy about that."

Richard looked at his friend, taking into consideration the look of concern on the man's face and the passers-by that were around them. "Would you care to take a walk with me?"

Charles noticed the amount of people surrounding them, thinking a walk would be a good idea indeed. Richard went in to let the nurse know he'd be back shortly, and took his hat from the hook before returning outside.

As the men walked, they chatted about trivial things: a new wine Charles had tried, the weather, plans to get together for dinner once Elsie was feeling herself again. Richard latched onto that last topic as the men meandered to a quieter part of the village and stopped by a small, grassy area.

"Charles, may I speak freely?"

Charles inhaled sharply and pursed his lips together tightly. He wasn't frightened of what Richard might have to say to him, not really, but he was a bit apprehensive.

"You may. But if it's about Elsie, I'm not sure I can help you. I've tried to do the best I possibly –"

Richard waved his hand, cutting Charles off before he could finish. "I know you have, and that's not quite what I wanted to discuss. From what Isobel has said to me, Elsie has healed remarkably well, better than most, and I'm sure that's down to your very dedicated care. No, I wanted to ask you something different; how has Elsie's _emotional_ state been lately? Isobel mentioned that Elsie seemed a bit, well, _off_ lately."

Charles blushed furiously, not really wishing to discuss his recent worries about Elsie's emotional well-being, but took a deep breath and reminded himself that the man before him was, first and foremost, their doctor. He stuffed down the bit of himself that was screaming about how furious his wife might be for him to be divulging personal information about her to someone else, and forged ahead.

"I don't know," he said simply, his shoulders slumping. He felt his throat start to close, and feared in the moment that he would become too emotional to speak.

"But something isn't quite right?" Richard prodded gently.

Charles shook his head. "No," he whispered, "and I fear I've done something _wrong_ , somehow, only she insists I haven't. But she's been so distant, so … well, _not my Elsie_." He started to fidget, turning away from Richard so that he could plow ahead with the remainder of his thought. "I've tried to be so careful not to _hurt_ her – physically, I mean – but now I don't think she'd welcome any … _attentions_ … at all." He thought back to the previous evening, and the several before that, when she'd turned her face away so that he would kiss her cheek instead of her lips. "I … I don't know what to do," he said with a sigh.

Richard nodded, and then realized Charles couldn't see him. "Charles, I can assure you that it's nothing you've done personally. It's common for women who've had this type of procedure to find that it carries a heavier emotional component than they'd expected."

"But her emotional state didn't seem so terribly altered the first time, did it? Then she was just extremely tired."

"No, I'd expect she _didn't_ feel it as much then. First of all, this procedure was more invasive, with a large mass that had to be removed. And, Charles, she was just a _housekeeper_ then … now she's a _wife_." He let that sink in for a moment, hoping he'd not quite have to spell the entire thing out for his friend.

Charles's eyes widened in horror. "But she can't _possibly think_ that I view her as … well …" he flustered, "as somehow less … beautiful?" _Beautiful,_ he thought. _Yes, that's a good substitute._ He found it much easier to say than the one he'd been thinking: _desirable_.

"She can think that, and she likely _does_. Obviously you've been helping her to clean and dress the wound, seeing how she's been healing?"

A nod. "Yes, of course, and she's done remarkably well with that. It looks _much_ better than before."

"Exactly, and that's wonderful. And is it pretty to look at?"

Charles was taken aback, wondering how many more startling comments Richard would come out with before they headed back. "I beg your pardon?"

"The wound, the scarring. It's fairly frightening, I'd imagine?"

"Well, yes, it looks quite _painful_ actually, which is why I don't want to …" he drifted off, realizing something. "Oh, but she certainly doesn't think …"

"Yes, I believe she _does_ think that. Charles, I only share this with you because I've got Isobel's explicit permission, and because I know she'll be sharing it with Elsie as we speak. Isobel had a similar experience many years ago, when Matthew was just a boy. She was a nurse at the time, working with Reginald, and he performed her surgery himself. The situation was a bit different, but the words she used to describe her feelings were to say that she felt 'disfigured in a way that would certainly make her husband never want to look upon her _that way_ again.' I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, I hope you realize."

Charles wasn't sure what to say. Somewhere in his brain he wondered why Isobel would _ever_ have told Richard about that, but he tried to push that aside and assume it had to do with comforting Elsie in some way, a train of thought that only increased his awkwardness around this entire conversation.

Richard plowed ahead, unaware of Charles's new discomfort. "Clearly, a woman's breasts are, well, _different_ in many ways from other parts of the body, being seen as a source of desirability and a symbol of mothering. It's quite likely that your wife is feeling, as Isobel remarked, 'disfigured' in a way, or that she thinks you'll feel that way about it, at least."

Richard stopped explaining, realizing from the look on Charles's face that they'd reached the endpoint of his tolerance of the conversation. "Please think about it, and speak to her."

"I shall," Charles said, turning suddenly to offer his hand to Richard, who took it and shook it firmly in his grasp. "Thank you. I'm not good at expressing how I feel about things, not usually, but you've somehow managed to wrap all of my fears up and explain them all away."

Richard laughed. "Well, I _am_ a doctor … and I've got quite a perceptive nurse who works for me," he said with a wink.

Charles laughed out loud at that, realizing as the two men turned to head back to the hospital that it was the first time he'd done so in weeks.

After saying good-bye to Richard at the hospital, Charles rushed to the market to pick up the items he needed. As he passed by the flower shop, he took a turn and headed in, purchasing a small bouquet of Elsie's favorites from the owner. Humming to himself, he headed home, happy to notice he'd found a spring in his step again, the one that had been missing since the day Elsie had gone into the hospital to have the lump removed.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Charles managed to arrive home a bit earlier than expected, given his unplanned detour with Richard. As he opened the door, he called a "hello" to Elsie and noticed that the kitchen smelled _wonderful_.

"Elsie?"

Charles watched as his wife came in from the parlour, an apron tied around her waist. "You're home! A bit earlier than I expected, though. I was hoping to surprise you with a table set for a butler." She winked at him and then approached him, gasping when he pulled the flowers out from behind his back.

"Oh, Charles! They're _lovely_!" She reached up on her tiptoes and placed a light kiss to his lips, not even thinking about it until she was pulling away.

"I thought you could use a little spot of color," he said quietly. He reached out and glanced his fingertips across her face, his heart singing as she closed her eyes and seemed to instantly calm at his touch.

"Charles," Elsie said as she pulled away, "I think we need to talk."

"Why don't you get those into a vase while you allow _me_ to set the table and get the wine," he said. "We have all night to talk, if you'd like."

Elsie nodded, extremely grateful for her tender, loving husband and their amazingly understanding (and _pushy_ , she thought with a chuckle) friends.

Dinner passed slowly, Elsie feeling more and more foolish as the meal wore on. She and Charles were talking about trivial things, but each was clearly becoming more comfortable with one another. Elsie knew that she felt better simply because Isobel had given her the all-clear, had told her she would be fine to start getting back to her normal routine as long as she stayed away from heavy lifting for a couple more weeks and from anything that would put ' _exceptional pressure_ ' on the side of her breast. Elsie took that to mean a wide variety of things, all of which Isobel had meant to convey without explicitly saying them. But it was terrific news overall and she was thrilled to have been able to do something for Charles after he'd spent weeks waiting on her hand and foot.

Charles had noticed the change in his wife as soon as she'd walked out of the parlour to greet him. There was apprehension in her eyes still, but only a little, and part of her sparkle and spunk seemed to have returned. He was thrilled beyond belief that she'd given him a quick thank-you kiss for the flowers, thinking it was one of the best kisses that she'd ever given him, one that told him in her own way that they were on the road back to normal.

After dinner, Charles insisted on doing the dishes. Elsie took the wine and the rest of the biscuits into the parlor and placed them all on the table. She threw an extra log on the fire and curled up on the sofa, tucking her feet up next to her as she pulled a blanket onto her lap.

When he'd finished putting away the dishes and tidying up the kitchen Charles came into the parlour and paused a moment, seeing Elsie's head and shoulders over the back of the sofa. She had dozed off while waiting for him and he took a moment to relish the scene before him: his wife, his _beautiful_ wife, who'd chosen to spend her life at his side, sleeping in front of the warming fire; the blanket she'd made years before he knew her, one end wrapped tightly around her back as the rest of it remained on the sofa, waiting for him; the fire in the hearth, a symbol of how they'd already spent many evenings – warming one another as the firelight flickered upon them, cozied up on the sofa whether they were reading, chatting, eating, or ... well ... doing other things. He moved forward and placed a gentle kiss to the spot just under her ear, his heart soaring with love at the tenderness of the moment, all his dreams for their future returning to his mind with reckless abandon, finally drowning out the fear and sadness that had pervaded his heart these last few weeks.

"Charles?" came Elsie's sleepy voice, breaking into his reverie. "I'm so sorry that I fell asleep."

He shook his head and chuckled, moving around the sofa to sit. "It's quite alright, I'm sorry to have kept you."

"Are _you_ alright?" she asked, a look of worry passing over her features as she took in his dazed expression.

"I'm perfectly fine," he replied. "I was taking a moment to appreciate my life, if you must know. Our home, the wonderful meal we just shared, friends who care about us … _you_. Especially you, love." He leaned over and kissed her cheek again, in that spot just under the ear that he knew she loved, hearing her sigh as his lips lingered.

"I'm so sorry, Charles," she whispered, and he noticed her brush a few stray tears from her lashes.

"Oh, Elsie, _I'm_ the one who should be sorry. Richard explained a few things to me, much to my overwhelming embarrassment, about how you might be feeling. I mean to assure you that _nothing_ would change how I feel about you, how lovely you are to me and will _always_ be, or lessen that in any way …"

Elsie placed two fingers over his lips, shushing him. "No," she cooed, "no apologies from you, my lovely man. _I'm_ the one who should apologize. I've shut you out, tried to shut myself away from you. I feel so foolish now, but it was so hard at first to deal with being somewhat incapacitated, and then once I started to heal up a bit you were so careful to make sure that nothing upset me. I know you were afraid to touch me, and I think I know why … and I should have been clearer that my pain was almost gone, that I've been physically much improved this last week. I should have told you that there wasn't as much of a need to _worry_. And I took your kindness and extra-attentive carefulness as your way of saying that you didn't feel you could – or would _want_ to – touch me … at all."

Charles reached his arm around his wife's shoulders, pulling her gently toward him, cognizant of not allowing his fingertips to press into the side of her breast. "Oh, Els … nothing could be further from the truth. I've been so afraid to hurt you, physically, that it seemed best not to touch you at all. But then you didn't seem to want to kiss me, and I thought I'd offended you somehow. It didn't even occur to me that you might be feeling, well, _less_ than usual somehow. I just wasn't sure what to do, so I decided it would be best to leave you alone as much as I could." He smiled at her then, and raised his eyebrows. "It wasn't _easy_ , you know."

Elsie laughed softly. "Well, I'm glad to hear _that_." She looked into his eyes, and realized the wine glasses remained untouched on the table before them. She reached for both and handed him one, then raised her own in his direction.

"A toast," she said. "To good health, good friends – and us."

Charles clinked his glass to hers and they both took a sip. He then took her glass from her hand and placed it with his on the table once again. Turning back to her, he took Elsie's face in his hands and placed the most gentle of kisses to her lips. Feeling hers move slightly against his he deepened the kiss just a bit, not wanting to push her into anything she wasn't ready for quite yet. They broke apart, slightly breathless, and sat back from one another a bit.

"I've missed you, love," Elsie said quietly. "We need to get better at this 'talking about our fears' business."

"I thought we _were_ past all that," Charles said, thinking back to how far they'd come and how much they'd shared with one another since Becky had died.

"I think it's always going to be a struggle for us, really. It's how we were brought up, how we've lived our lives employed at Downton. It's ingrained so deeply that I fear we forget it's not _really_ who we are anymore – at least, not together."

Charles nodded. "Yes, that was our life, wasn't it? But not anymore." He reached out and grasped her hand. "For years I thought the _Abbey_ was my life, but now I can't imagine how I could have ever felt that way. You're my life now, Elsie. From the day you offered me your hand in the rushing waters in Brighton – and for much longer before that, if I'm honest – you've been the harbour of my very soul."

"Oh, Charles," she whispered. "Thank you for that, what a lovely sentiment." She raised his hand to her lips and kissed it, then tucked their hands down between them as she laid her head upon his shoulder. Charles leaned over and placed another kiss to the tip of her ear, and they turned to watch the fire flicker in the hearth – in _their_ hearth, in their home, where they finally felt _at home_ once again.

 _So my woman of the hearth fire, harbour of my soul_

 _I watch you lightly sleeping and sense the dream that does unfold (like gold)_

 _You to me are treasure, you to me are dear_

 _So I'll give you my love with a bang on the ear._

 ** _"And A Bang on the Ear," by The Waterboys_**

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 **Reviews always welcomed! :) I love hearing from each and every one of you. Special shout-out to those who review as Guest reviewers, with or without a name - I cannot respond personally to those, but I wish I could!**


	6. Here Comes the Sun

**A/N: Here is a little giftie for Batwings79, who made a request AGES ago in a review of "Softie." I wrote a scene to fulfill the request and then promptly stored it away for later. It fits here nicely, I think, so Happy Un-Birthday, Batty! ;)**

 **This is a short chapter, but the next one will MORE than make up for it. I think that if you've made it through the last four chapters with me, you all deserved some fluff.**

 **Thanks to brenna-louise for reviewing once again, you're a darling! xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces_  
 _Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here_  
 _Here comes the sun_  
 _Here comes the sun, and I say_  
 _It's all right_  
 _Sun, sun, sun, here it comes ..._

 _"Here Comes the Sun" ~ The Beatles_

* * *

As the days went on, Elsie started to feel more and more like herself. Her energy was back up thanks to finally being able to get out for long, meandering walks through the half-frozen fields surrounding the cottage and, thanks to her worry level being down, she was eating better as well. Although it had yet to snow, the coldness of winter was upon them and she found the sharp bite to the air refreshing rather than intimidating, a reminder of the intensity of all that life had to offer. With Christmas on the way and a baby in their lives, Elsie was feeling quite well, indeed.

She was the first to wake on Tuesday morning, giddy at the feeling of what the day would bring: _finally_ , a visit with Anna and Brenna, whom Elsie hadn't seen in weeks. Anna had been so kind to send notes now and then, just checking in and making sure Elsie knew she was being thought about. Elsie had been so grateful to receive them, but had not sent much by way of reply. Today she felt like a new person, full of excitement at seeing how Brenna had changed. A month or two might not seem like much time for adults but it usually meant a world of difference in the development of a baby. Anna had mentioned that Brenna was now crawling, giving a warning that it would be wise to rearrange some of the low-to-the-ground items in the Carsons' cottage prior to any upcoming visits.

Elsie rolled over in bed and felt her heart swell as her eyes fell upon her two bed mates: Thunder, their black cat, and Charles. She took note of how the cat had tucked herself in between Charles's shoulder and his chin … and that, in their own way, each of them was 'purring' softly. Both she and Charles had given up any thought that this was _Elsie's_ cat long ago, for after the first three or four days under their roof, despite any feeding and cuddling and yarn that Elsie provided, Thunder had made herself very clear that she was her Da's girl through and through. Oh, sure, Thunder would curl up in Elsie's lap as Elsie was knitting before the fire, but the moment Charles came through after putting away the dinner dishes the little bundle of black fluff would abandon all thoughts of dismantling sweaters that were being knit, choosing instead to lounge on _his_ lap or, more frequently, his chest. She would follow him out to the garden to chase butterflies as he pulled weeds and pruned the roses, meowing at him as suppertime approached as though she were keeping him on schedule. And when she was allowed into the bedroom she would immediately pounce on top of the coverlet, burrow her way underneath it, and find a spot next to his warm body where she would curl up for her night's sleep.

In those first days Elsie had found herself a bit jealous, truth be told, a feeling for which she felt mildly ridiculous. But the sweetness of scenes like the one before her now had banished all of that. Her Charles was such a large, loud man that sometimes even _she_ still forgot how gentle he could be. When his hands would reach down to pick up the cat, petting her as he talked to her as softly as he could, pretending to admonish her for following him around, Thunder would purr away, and Elsie would feel such contentment at the love that their tiny family shared. Besides, she knew perfectly well why Thunder preferred laying on Charles's chest or lap when they all relaxed in the parlour: the timbre of his voice vibrating through his body when he spoke, the way it echoed in Elsie's own ear as she rested _her_ head upon him, was one of the most calming things Elsie had ever experienced; naturally, she assumed the cat felt the same way. _Almost like cuddling up to her own purring 'cat,' I suppose._

Just then, Charles opened his eyes slightly. "Well, good morning, darling," he said sleepily.

Elsie raised herself up on one arm, leaned over, and placed a kiss to his nose. "We're going to presume that you were addressing _me_ in that loving voice, yes?"

Charles smiled through his yawn and opened his eyes wider, noticing that the cat was tucked in directly underneath his chin. "Yes, but now I see that we have company," he sighed. "When did she make her way in here?"

"As if you mind _at all_ ," Elsie teased. "Take your time waking up – I'll get the kettle on." She rose from the bed and donned her dressing gown, smiling a bit as she watched Thunder stretch, give Charles a scratchy kiss, then jump from the bed and pad on over to the door in search of breakfast. The cat stopped just outside the door, looked up at Elsie, and meowed loudly.

"Sometimes you _are_ my wee little one, aren't you?" Elsie murmured, bending down to gather the cat in her arms. "But only if I have food." She chuckled, scratching Thunder's ears gently. "Much like your Da," she said more loudly, scooting out of the way as a throw pillow came sailing in her general direction, Charles's laughter echoing behind her.

oOoOoOoOo

Brenna's squeals sounded through the warm parlour as she crawled around investigating, seemingly thrilled with her ability to do so. Charles was following her every movement, nervous as she moved closer to the fireplace despite the screen that he and Elsie had put up to keep her back from it. He was trying to give the women a chance to catch up and, truth be told, he was quite enjoying himself. It had been a great many years since he'd watched the young Ladies crawl about Downton, but this time he felt more protective, more comfortable in many ways. After all, Brenna was, for all intents and purposes, his granddaughter. _Grandchildren … who'd ever have thought?_ Charles gave a little smile at the thought as he always did when he pondered how his life, his family, had become so much richer the moment he'd declared his love to his wife.

Elsie and Anna were in the kitchen preparing dinner, each of them looking up every so often to check on what the 'children' were up to. Elsie was so grateful to have both Brenna and Anna back around again, thankful for their presence in her life. Both women had slid into a comfortableness with one another over the time since Brenna had been born, something that each had craved for years but which would not have been entirely appropriate when Elsie was still employed at Downton. Today's visit was a clear reminder of that valued relationship between them; today it felt as if no time, no surgery, no strife had interrupted the flow of their conversation, the ease of their familiarity. Anna related that John was well and that things at the Abbey were going splendidly; Master George and Miss Marigold both seemed to enjoy having Brenna in the nursery with them, and Brenna was such an easy-going girl that Nanny loved having her there.

"But how have _you_ been … really?" Anna asked suddenly. "I don't mean to pry, but I've been quite worried."

Elsie tilted her head and sent her girl a look of soft fondness, biting on her lip as she formulated her answer. "Oh, lass … thank you. It was quite difficult at times, I'll not lie, and the fact that we're standing here nattering away is a true testament to what love can help one to overcome." She looked again into the parlour, finding Charles sat on the couch, Brenna cooing in his lap as he sang her some nursery rhyme or other. "I had a good many reasons to make it through it all, I will say that. And I thank you and John for the brightest of them," she said, reaching out to pat Anna's hand.

"She has been such a joy in our lives. I can't believe how quickly she's growing! I swear, all that girl does is eat and then burn it all off again as she's darting about the place! I was worried that she'd not grow well, I was like that as a child, but she seems to be doing quite well."

Suddenly a peal of joyful laughter rang out through the cottage and both women turned their heads to see what their little angel was getting herself into. Elsie's face broke into a broad smile as she saw her handsome husband serenading their lovely girl as he danced her around the parlour, swinging her into the air on occasion and making her face light up with glee. She looked at Anna, and noticed the younger woman's eyes filling with tears.

"Never in my life did I imagine I'd have a proper family, that any child of mine would be able to grow up like this," Anna whispered. "Thank you for that." She placed the sugar she'd just retrieved onto the counter, turned to Elsie, and wrapped her in a fierce hug. "Thank you," she said again. "You've no idea what it means to me."

Elsie thought back on her life, to her childhood on the farm, to the complete and utter lack of scenes like the one she'd just witnessed. "Oh, Anna … I do. I truly, truly _do_ ," she said, returning her embrace with equal measure. "We are the lucky ones, you and I, and I'll never forget _that_ as long as I live."

* * *

 **Sooo ... the next chapter will be _Christmas with the Carsons_. What types of gifts would you all like to see? Leave a teensy review, if you please and, if you've got ideas, I'm all ears! xx**


	7. A Glorious Christmas (part one)

**A/N: Part one of two. I love Chelsie and Christmas to death. Putting them together was like writing a dream. I hope you all enjoy. :)**

 **Song selection: "Glorious" by Melissa Etheridge (I love her to death, too). It's my favorite Christmas song EVER - pop over to my Spotify for a listen or look it up on YouTube.**

 **Hugs to brenna-louise for proofreading skills rendered!**

 **xx**

* * *

 _Friends and family near,_

 _No more judgments, no more fear,_

 _All is calm, all is bright,_

 _Everyone will hold this light and sing._

 _Love … it's glorious._

 _~"Glorious," by Melissa Etheridge_

* * *

 ** _December, 1926_**

The snow-covered lane looked absolutely gorgeous in the light from the setting sun. Elsie stood out on the patio, glancing down the lane as she heard Charles's crunching footsteps nearing. She was bundled up in her winter hat and a heavy blanket, having refused to watch the sunset from indoors tonight. As she watched Charles approach, she wondered if he'd remembered just what day it was. He hadn't looked as if anything were on his mind that morning but, then again, he _was_ a man whose mind focused on details: quotes, colors, sights, sounds, facts. _He must have remembered._

"What on earth are you doing outside?" he called to her, still several yards away. "It's freezing!"

"Come and join me, and see for yourself," came her reply.

He obliged, pushing the gate open with his gloved hand. He shut it behind him and deposited his basket on the step, approached his wife, and bent to give her a searing kiss as she opened the blanket and wrapped it around them both, struggling to remain standing as the passion of his embrace carried her away.

They broke apart at last, and Elsie motioned for him to look behind her. There, over the treetops and the lake, he saw the setting sun casting its red and purple tones over the semi-frozen surface of the lake. She turned in his arms, taking the blanket with her, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders instead. After a few moments, Charles moved his head to take in his wife's profile, and a gasp passed over his lips as he caught her loveliness in the rosy light reflecting off the snow, the warmth of his exhale materializing in front of them.

"Happy Anniversary," he whispered in her ear. "Well, you know … sort of."

And she did know.

"I do," she murmured, turning slightly, her lips now against his neck. "And while I did have faith that you'd remember, you said nothing this morning. You left me wondering, Charles."

"Yes, well, perhaps I should make that up to you?" He bent and picked Elsie up in his arms, something deep in his brain reminding him to be careful of his back. She let out a symphony of giggles and false protest as he carried her through the door, kicked it shut behind him, and deposited her on the wide, oversized sofa that faced the hearth. Removing his overcoat and jacket and hanging them with their hats on the peg, he returned swiftly to her side. He knelt on one knee by the sofa, and took her hands in his.

"I'd ask you to marry me right now if I'd not already done so exactly one year ago today," he whispered. "Despite all we've recently been through, please know that this has been the most remarkable twelve months of my life in so many ways, and I look forward to hundreds more with you by my side."

"Oh, Charles," came her reply, her hand reaching up to caress his cheek. "Oh! Your face is so cold! Come here, love." She opened the blanket once again and scooted against the back of the sofa to make room for him, silently thanking Lady Mary once again for the luxurious gift of the furniture that resided in their cottage.

"Well, who am I to argue?" Charles growled playfully, joining his wife as she pulled him on top of her. "After all, one must stay warm."

"One must, indeed," she gasped, realizing that her husband was managing to shed his clothing at a remarkable rate despite his body being almost flush with hers. "I knew there must be a reason I love the winter …"

The wood she'd added earlier to the hearth caught fire just then, flickering its light over her husband's face. Elsie reached up for him and captured his head in her hands, bringing his lips to hers once again. She then pushed on his shoulders, encouraging him to sit for a moment so that she could remove her own attire. Thankfully, she'd had the foresight to don her nightgown and dressing robe before heading outside and, with a little help from Charles, they were swiftly disposed of onto the floor.

"Are you sure?" he whispered, wanting to check one final time. "You know I won't press you if you're not ready …"

"… but it's been so long, hasn't it?" she answered, tears in her eyes. "I appreciate your patience with me these last several weeks, but I can assure you that I've never _been_ so ready, my love." She reached for his hand and brought it to her breast, gasping softly as his cool fingertips brushed over the still-pink scar. When his lips followed suit, she let the tears fall at last. "I truly thank God for you, Charles."

His lips flew across her chest, up her neck, and found her tears, kissing them all away.

"We have so much to be thankful for this Christmas, love." As her arms wrapped around his back, he allowed himself to cover her once again. "And it is my desperate wish to spend the rest of this evening celebrating my favorite part of it."

She laughed, then grasped her lip between her teeth. "Why, Mr. Carson … you made that sound a little risqué!"

His eyes twinkled. "Oh, I do hope so, Mrs. Carson … I do hope so."

oOoOoOoOoOo

Hours later, Elsie rolled over, understanding as she shivered that the fire had gone out in the parlour. She reached out for Charles, waking fully when she realized he no longer lay next to her on the sofa. She sat up, gathered a blanket around her, and saw that her nightclothes were no longer strewn about the floor.

 _Poor man – his back must have been screaming after sleeping on the sofa._ She quietly headed up to their room, stopping to scratch the cat's ears before entering their bedroom and shutting the door firmly, keeping the cat sequestered in the hall where she wouldn't be … disruptive.

Elsie added some wood to the fire in the bedroom, then peered over to the bed where she spotted her husband slumbering soundly. She smiled and shook her head, then made her way into the bathroom to brush her teeth and tame the mess Charles had made of her hair earlier. When she finished, she headed to bed and saw that Charles had laid her clothing out for her. She glanced at her husband, then back at her nightdress. _Well, I don't REALLY suppose I'll need that …_ She lifted the blanket and crawled underneath, tucking herself up to her husband's body. Sleeping with Charles was truly like having her own personal fireplace, and with the extra wood on the real fire she knew she'd be just fine in a few moments.

Charles woke slightly, sensing Elsie's presence next to him at last. He'd known that she would come up eventually, that she'd wake when the fire went out downstairs and it got colder. He opened his eyes half-way, opening his arms to welcome her in. As she snuggled down onto his body she rested her head on his shoulder. He reached down and placed a kiss to her lips, then her shoulder, and on downward from there, informing his wife between kisses that perhaps he wasn't _quite_ as sleepy as he may have initially seemed.

"Thank goodness," came her hitched reply, "because I find that I need a bit of warming up after all ..."

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Charles! Be careful, please, or you'll knock the poor man down!"

Elsie was trying valiantly to be patient with him, but her husband was shoving their Christmas tree through the door so forcefully that poor John, who'd offered to help, almost sailed backwards as he was attempting to pull it through from the other side.

"I've got it," John grimaced, "but she's right – slow down a bit, please. Have a bit of pity on my leg," he joked.

"I'm sorry, truly." Charles lifted the trunk a bit to round the corner, and then both men finally made it to the parlour, relatively unscathed except for some pitch on Charles's overcoat.

Removing the overcoat and hanging it, Charles looked approvingly at the tree he and Elsie had chosen. They'd cut it from an area near the lake, after spending the entire afternoon searching for one that would be just the right size to fit near the hearth yet full enough to accommodate the new lights they'd purchased and the ornaments they'd each moved to the cottage. Elsie had about a dozen different ornaments that had been her mother's, while Charles brought a collection that he'd amassed over the years he worked at the Abbey. He'd purchased each one after a milestone moment in his life, and was looking forward to sharing them with Elsie and listening to the stories behind each of the items in her own collection.

Elsie added water to the tree stand and then stepped back to admire it. "We chose well, Charles."

He nodded, then turned to John. "Thank you very much for the help. I think I could have managed, but it was so much easier with two."

"Anytime, you know that." John turned to Elsie. "Are you sure you're all set for Christmas Day? I know better than to bring wine, but we'd like to contribute something," he said with a smirk, shooting a glance in Charles's direction.

"No, please, just bring that lovely granddaughter of ours," Elsie answered. "All we need to make the day complete is our family."

John stood a little straighter at her words, still unused to being so wholly accepted into the Carsons' lives. He'd worked with them for years but, as a man used to keeping himself to himself, the friendship that he and Anna had forged with the older couple – one that Anna had been building long before he arrived on the scene – made John feel like he had a second home. Charles and Elsie's opinion of John meant quite a lot to him; after all that he and Anna had been through over the years, it warmed his heart to have been invited into their home like a son.

"We shall do that," he replied softly. "Thank you."

Elsie closed the door behind him, then turned to look at her husband. "The house already smells lovely just with the tree, and we've not even started preparing any food yet!"

Charles could see the glee in her eyes and laughed, extending his arms to her and inviting her in for an embrace. She smiled at him and wrapped her arms around his waist, kissing his chest before resting her head upon it. "Something tells me that celebrating Christmas in our own home – with _you_ – is going to be remarkably similar to seeing it through the eyes of a child."

Elsie laughed in reply. "Well, I've had to keep myself restrained for such a long time, you know, but I've always loved the season." She sighed. "There's just something magical about it, you know?"

"Mmm," Charles replied, his face buried in her hair. "That there is. And with so many loved ones around us, this will be the best Christmas for me in I'm not sure how long. I can't wait to see the gifts under the tree – you know, that always just makes it look complete."

"I agree. Speaking of gifts …" Elsie trailed off.

"We discussed this, Elsie – _one_ gift a piece. _One._ "

"Yes, I know that, but I've not managed to get out to finish our shopping quite yet. I'm heading out tomorrow with Isobel to finish, and you may _not_ accompany us," she said, poking at his chest.

"You've not finished shopping?" Charles asked in horror. " _My wife_ , the one who always had staff shopping finished at least two weeks in advance for years, hasn't finished?"

"Last year I was rather behind as well, I'll remind you. It seems to me there's a common denominator to my distraction, you know."

Charles shook his head and gazed fondly at his wife. "Blame accepted," he murmured, kissing her soundly on the lips. "Well, I hope you both have a wonderful time, and remember … _one_ gift. I already have everything I truly need right here in my arms."

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Thank you again for the company, Elsie," Isobel said. She walked her friend to the door, carrying Elsie's bags as Elsie tried to manage the rather large box containing Charles's gift. Thankfully, she'd had the foresight to have it wrapped in town, knowing that once he saw the size of the box he'd be tempted to peek.

"Oh, thank you for the offer to bring me! Can you see me carrying those bags _and_ this package home all on my own?" Elsie exclaimed.

"He's going to be so surprised, truly," assured Isobel. "And you've only got to make it three more days before he can open it. Surely he can show that much restraint?"

"Oh, I'm not sure about that. Charles is a man of tradition, to be sure, but he's not very good with surprises. It's good that I'll be home straight through now."

Isobel kissed Elsie on the cheek, bidding her good-bye. "I'll see you Christmas evening, then?"

Elsie nodded. "Please don't rush away from the family, though. We'll be here all night."

"Well, with Cousin Violet ill in bed and Edith staying in London with her aunt, I think it will be a small celebration anyhow," came Isobel's reply. "After all, if Mrs. Patmore can manage to escape, I'm sure I'll not be far behind."

"Alright, I'll see you then, and thank you again, Isobel."

Elsie watched her friend walk carefully back to her car. As the driver pulled away, she turned and walked smack into her husband's chest.

"Oh, Charles! You frightened me half to death! You weren't perhaps _eavesdropping_ , were you? Hoping to get a hint as to what I've gotten you for Christmas?"

"Not at all, love. But you've got quite a few things there now, haven't you? Would you like a hand?"

"No, I'll thank you not to touch this!" Elsie retorted, hugging the large, wrapped parcel to her chest. "Don't let me see you even laying a finger on it until Christmas, do you hear me?"

"My, my, Elsie … one would think you don't trust me," Charles said softly.

"Don't you use that loving tone of voice with me, Mr. Carson," she chided. "It will get you many, _many_ things, but one of them is most certainly _not_ a peek at what's in this package!"

Charles sighed, accepting the futility of his rather weak plan. "Fine, love. May I help you with the bags, then?"

She nodded, heading into the parlour to place his gift under the tree. Her loud gasp made him smile, knowing he'd managed to surprise her – a rare treat for Charles Carson, that.

"It's beautiful," she murmured. Elsie's eyes roved around the parlour, where Charles had, in her absence, decorated quite a bit. She saw boughs of holly and pine adorning the fireplace mantle, and vases of additional greens placed surreptitiously throughout the room. It was delicately done in a way that the decoration blended in with their daily possessions and décor, and Elsie was quite moved by his desire to have done this for her as a surprise. But the biggest delight of all was the tree, which he'd strung with their new electric lights. It illuminated the room in an almost ethereal glow, and it took Elsie's breath away. She bent down to lay the gift on the floor under the tree, then turned to place a gentle kiss on her husband's chin.

"Thank you for this," she said. "I do believe it's more beautiful than the tree at the Abbey, simply because it's _ours_."

"Agreed. What do you say we start on some of the baking, and then we can hang our ornaments as we enjoy some wine after dinner?"

Elsie beamed at her beloved man. "That sounds _perfect_."

oOoOoOoOoOo

With the smell of cinnamon filling their cottage, Charles and Elsie decided to change into their nightclothes before settling in with the ornaments and wine. Charles went to fetch the glasses and decanter while Elsie retrieved the ornaments. She was a bit apprehensive, truth be told, as she felt her meager collection would pale in comparison to the ones that Charles had purchased over the years; nevertheless, she set the boxes side-by-side on the table, looking forward to hearing his stories and memories as she shared her own personal recollections. Last Christmas they'd still been employed at the Abbey, and so this was the first time in years that Elsie would even be opening her box of decorations from the farm. She knew that she'd come quite a long way from those days, though, and knew that with Charles by her side everything would have new meaning.

"Here we are," came his booming voice from behind her. He set the glasses on the table next to the boxes, and then deftly poured them each some wine. "A toast," he said, picking up his glass and handing Elsie her own, "to making new memories, with _you._ "

Elsie gave him a look of utter adoration, then raised her glass toward him. "Thank you, dear. To making memories, _together_."

They each sipped their wine in silence for a few minutes, then Charles set his glass down on the table. "Well, then, would you like to start, or shall I?"

"You, please," Elsie said. "I'm looking forward to seeing what the lovely butler has in store for our tree."

"Very well," he replied, pulling the box into his lap. "But you must promise not to chastise me for being a sentimental old fool."

Elsie shook her head, a glimmer of humor in her eye. "Never," she whispered. "I like this sentimental side of you, the Charles Carson that only I ever get to see. Although now, with those on the tree, I suppose it'll be on display for everyone come Christmas."

He took a deep breath, raising his eyebrows as he considered her words. "Well, perhaps," he conceded, "but only for our nearest and dearest."

Charles lifted the lid to the box and moved the tissue aside. "There are twelve of them. You won't believe it, but some years I had a tree in my bedroom – just a small one, mind you, that fit on the desktop – and once I obtained a dozen ornaments it was rather full."

"You never did!" exclaimed Elsie. "A tree?"

He nodded sheepishly. "Yes, well, you're not the only one who likes the holiday season, you know."

Elsie felt that her heart doubled in size as she took in the look on her husband's face. "Well, then, let's see what you've got in there, shall we?"

Charles reached in and lifted out the first ornament. Elsie was astonished to see that it was … _a doll?_ Yes, it was a small, porcelain doll, dressed in Christmas attire. It seemed dwarfed in her husband's palm, and he was looking at it with a mixture of fondness and sadness.

"Oh, yes," he said softly. "I'd forgotten about this one." He looked at Elsie for a moment, then returned his gaze to the ornament he held. "I purchased this the year Lady Sybil celebrated her fifth birthday. She'd snuck down to my pantry after the celebrations with the family, knocked on my door, and insisted on giving me a kiss to thank me for being the first to wish her a Happy Birthday – I'd spotted her in the hall that morning as I was making my rounds."

Elsie reached out and took the ornament from his palm, turning it this way and that. "It's resemblance to her is uncanny," she murmured. She turned her gaze back to her husband, wiping a stray tear from his face. "It's lovely, Charles."

He nodded, then reached in for the next one. "They won't all produce the same reaction, so have no fear. But that one …" he trailed off. He knew he needed no words, knew that Elsie would understand as no one else would.

Charles lifted out the next ten items, describing each one and the occasion that inspired its purchase: a horse for the day Lady Mary asked him to take her riding because no one else had the time; a small, hand-blown wineglass ornament for the year he became butler; a book, looking remarkably like a miniature of his favorite Dickens novel; a rose, which had reminded him instantly of the flowers in the Dowager's gardens. There were several others, but Elise noticed that he was poking around, as though he were rearranging them as he went.

"There remains but one," he said with a pointed look at his wife, "but it's my favorite of the bunch."

"Well? Let's see it, then," she prodded, wondering what he was up to.

Charles reached back in to the box, and lifted out a songbird. It was a deep brown in color, almost black but not quite, and made of porcelain. He pinched the hanging ribbon between his thumb and forefinger and, as he lifted it from the box, the bird started to spin in the air. Elsie gasped as she saw that it had been painted so precisely that its feathers were positively luminescent in the light of the room, with shimmering bits of red flecked amongst the dark wings. Its mouth was open slightly, as if the bird had been captured mid-song ... and its eyes were a brilliant blue.

"The year that I obtained this one was the first year I put a tree in my room," he said lovingly. "Care to know what inspired the purchase?"

Memories of a homesick head housemaid flitted through Elsie's mind, an echo of a old, Welsh lullaby lilting in her heart. "Oh, you dear, dear man," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him. "Every time I think I understand the depth of the love we share, you turn around and show me that I'm _wrong_."

They spent the next few moments in silence, and then Elsie rose and reached for Charles's hand. "Let's go, then, and get those on the tree. They're lovely, every one."

They placed the delicate ornaments on the branches, spreading them apart so that Elsie's collection would fit amongst them. As they made their way back to the sofa, Elsie reached for her own box. "I'm afraid that this is quite an unimpressive collection, compared to those."

"But they're _yours_ , love, and they carry your own memories. Ornaments handed down through families have special meaning, I think."

She nodded, lifting the top off of the box. "I've not looked at these in years …"

Elsie reached in and pulled out the entire collection, setting it on the sofa between them. "My Mam made all of these, Charles, when Becky and I were wee lasses. She insisted on putting up a tree every year, and it made our Da happy, which was a lovely bonus to the season. There used to be more, but when I had to leave the farm this was the only box I could find."

He looked over the ornaments on the cushion beside him, a collection of holiday-themed items: wreath, candle, star, holly. He reached down and picked up a carved hobby horse, marveling at the detail, before he put it down and exchanged it for the wreath. "Oh, Elsie, these are _marvelous_."

Each ornament was either carved from wood or knit from the softest of yarns. The wooden ones were unpainted, but the detail etched into each was remarkable. Those that were knit had detail as well, and the combination of colors was both festive and simple. "I look at these, and I feel like I've got a glimpse into the happiness that a Christmas on the farm can bring. Warm home, carols by the tree, little girls playing in crunching snow …" he trailed off, seeing the faraway look on his wife's face. "Elsie?"

She smiled, reminiscing. "Yes, you're right. It's so easy to forget that there were happy times, too." She looked up at her husband. "I'm glad we pulled these out, they've helped me to remember that."

"Your mother was a special woman, wasn't she?"

Elsie nodded. "She was, Charles … she truly _was_."

oOoOoOoOoOo

The Carsons headed to church on Christmas Eve, looking forward to exchanging holiday greetings with the Grantham family. It had been about two weeks since they'd set eyes on anyone at the Abbey except for John Bates, and Elsie found she was rather excited to see how Master George and Miss Marigold had grown. To her surprise, Charles was the first to spot and greet Lady Edith and her daughter, giving Marigold a big smile and grasping her hand as she waved it in the air at his face, squealing in delight at the rumble of his greeting.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Carson," Edith greeted them.

"Happy Christmas, Milady," replied Elsie. "I hear you're heading back to London this evening?"

Edith nodded. "Yes, we are. Aunt Rosamund didn't wish to travel with me to see Mama and Papa, but Marigold and I arrived yesterday afternoon and, quite honestly, I can't wait to return. It's funny; despite all of London's bustle and vivacity, in many ways it's just _easier_ to be there than here."

Elsie smiled understandingly. "You've made it your home now, Milady, and there's really nothing like that. If I may say so, I believe the city suits you."

Edith agreed. "Strangely, when we were growing up, I always assumed that Mary would be the one drawn to the city, with all of its glamour and fashion; it surprises me to say it, but she seems quite settled in here at Downton after all. I am glad for her."

"Your feelings do you credit, Milady," came Charles's voice. "And, if an old butler may say so, both you and Miss Marigold look very well. I agree with my wife – the city _does_ seem to suit you."

Elsie's attention was drawn by a high-pitched giggling sound that carried across the walkway, a sound that she knew only too well. She looked back at Edith and bid her farewell, then touched Charles's arm and indicated the source of the squealing with her head. "You know where I'll be, Mr. Carson." Giving a kiss to Marigold's cheek, she headed off to find the Bates family, thrilled to see Brenna reach out for her Granny as soon as she was spotted.

"Hello, my darling," Elsie murmured into Brenna's ear, hugging her tightly. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas, Elsie," Anna greeted her quietly, still timid about using Elsie's first name when they were amongst the family. After leaning over to give Elsie a kiss on the cheek, Anna took a deep breath and thought of just how much she'd been looking forward to this holiday; it had been a long year for them all in so many ways.

Everyone milling about outside the church started to file in at the ringing of the bells. Charles caught up with his wife and the rest of their family, and they all headed in together. As the sound of the opening hymn swelled, Charles stole a glance at his wife, still holding a now-sleepy Brenna in her arms. He placed his hand at the small of her back and bent to kiss Brenna on the forehead.

 _It just doesn't get_ _any better than this_ , he thought.

* * *

 **Reviews are very much appreciated! Next chapter - Christmas, part 2 ... with gifts ;)**


	8. A Glorious Christmas (part two)

**A/N: This is a continuation of Ch 7, so please go and read that first if you've not already done so! My thanks to the person who sent me the ideas for Charles and Elsie's gifts to one another - I cannot find that message anywhere now but I did write it down and use it! :) The song is the same - hit up Spotify or YouTube and find "Glorious" by Melissa Etheridge.**

 **Many, many thanks to brenna-louise who is beta-reading this story for me. Without her keeping me on track there would have been weird food, misnamed alcoholic beverages, and an Elsie who'd be receiving no gifts because I forgot to type them. xx**

* * *

 ** _I have heard the angels sweetly singing o'er the plain_ _  
_ _And I've heard the mountains echoing their sweet refrain_ _  
_ _They sing love … it's glorious._**

* * *

As everyone filed out of the church, Charles heard a voice calling his name.

"Good evening, Milady – Happy Christmas. And to you, Master George," he said, offering his hand to the little boy. He was amused to see George take his hand and shake it formally, the little boy trying to maintain his composure even though it was Christmas Eve.

"Happy Christmas to you, and to Mrs. Carson," she replied. "Are you all set for your celebrations tomorrow?"

"Oh, yes, I believe we have everything in hand. A little more baking this evening, however – Scottish shortbread, I believe."

"My, my, Carson, you're becoming quite _domestic_ in your retirement!" Sensing his unease, she quickly added, "I don't mean to offend you, Carson – retirement and marriage clearly suit you. I don't think I've ever seen you so happy in all my life," she said with a sincere smile.

Charles stood tall and tried very hard not to puff out his chest at the compliment. "Thank you, Milady … it does suit me quite well, I'll be the first to admit, and it wasn't long ago that I thought I'd never say those words." He then tilted his head toward little George and gave Mary a pointed look, patting his overcoat pocket. "May I?"

"Of course, but it wasn't necessary, Carson," she answered. She squatted down next to her son as Charles reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a toy soldier.

George's eyes lit up with happiness. "Thank you very much, Mr. Carson!" he exclaimed, then turned to look into his mother's face. "Look, Mama – a new soldier!"

Mary looked up at Carson fondly, then smiled and nodded at him. "Thank you, indeed, Carson. He'll be sleeping with that tonight, I think."

Charles laughed. "Well, Christmas _is_ for children, after all."

Another look passed between them as he held his hand out to Mary, offering his assistance as she stood once again next to George. This was a different look, one that spoke volumes without any words needing to be spoken. She gave him a soft smile, remembering Christmases past where she'd steal down to his pantry to tell him all about the gifts Father Christmas had left for her under the tree, not wanting to sound immature in front of her younger sisters but excited nevertheless. "It is, indeed," she finally whispered. "And for those with whom they choose to share it, I think, as well."

Mary looked past Charles's shoulder and saw Elsie approaching with Anna, John and Brenna. Brenna was fast asleep in her father's arms, a look of utter peace on her face. "Happy Christmas, Milady," Elsie greeted her.

"Mrs. Carson! Look at what Mr. Carson gave me!" came George's excited voice.

She bent down and examined the soldier, pretending as though she'd never laid eyes on it before. "My, my, that looks like quite a good soldier, indeed!"

George raised his eyes up to Elsie, and said more quietly, "My Papa was a soldier, Mrs. Carson. Did you know?"

Elsie noticed Mary stiffen as she listened to the conversation, but said smoothly, "Yes, I did know that, and a finer soldier there never was. You should always be so very proud of him." She stood again, ruffled George's hair with her hand, and caught Mary's glance.

 _Thank you_ , mouthed the younger woman. Elsie just nodded in reply, then felt Charles's hand at the small of her back.

"We should be returning," he murmured in her ear. She nodded, turning to kiss Anna and John on the cheek. "We'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"We wouldn't miss it for the world," Anna answered.

Mary walked over to Charles and placed a kiss to his cheek, then squeezed Elsie's hand in an uncharacteristic display of affection. "I wish you both the happiest of Christmases. Somehow," she continued, glancing at Brenna, "I do believe it will be."

oOoOoOoOoOo

"How about _now?_ " Charles asked his wife, his arm aching from beating the mixture in the bowl.

Elsie peered at it and nodded. "That should be mixed well enough – thank you, Charles. Just turn it out onto the flour and press it flat," she said, indicating with her finger where she meant.

The kitchen was a complete tip, dishes everywhere, as Elsie and Charles finished with the last of the baking. Tomorrow's meal was prepared and ready for the oven – all they'd need would be to get the dish into the oven early in the morning. She moved the ducks and vegetables into the refrigerator, shuffling around a few other items in order to accommodate the size of the pan. "It'll be a miracle if we eat even _half_ of this, Charles," she tutted. "Whatever were you thinking?"

He reached behind him and swatted her backside playfully, deciding not to mention the bit of floury handprint that now graced her bottom. "I was thinking that we were making an intimate dinner for the two of us for Christmas, followed by a supper that was feeding a party of eight." Then he furrowed his brow, and added, "I _do_ hope it's enough …"

"You've got to be kidding me," muttered Elsie. "How much does one man plan to _eat_?"

"I heard that, you know. I am standing _right here._ "

Shortbread in the oven, Charles maneuvered himself around his wife in order to rinse his hands in the sink. "I'll clean up in here if you want to get the rest of the gifts under the tree."

She nodded, grateful to remove her apron and wash her hands at last. "Thank you, that would be wonderful. I've only to wrap Beryl's and then we're all set." She headed off to get the required wrapping and ribbon, then headed to the parlour to finish the task. After tying the last bow, Elsie placed the gift under the tree and then stood back to admire the pile of packages, each lovingly tied and tagged and awaiting their recipients. The package for Charles was certainly the largest of the bunch, though, a fact that he kept harping on. _Technically,_ Elsie thought with a smirk, _it IS one gift … it's just got multiple parts …_

Charles quietly made his way to his wife, seeing her lost in thought. _Ha – I know that look. That's the 'Elsie Carson, Plotter' look._ "Something amiss, darling?" he purred in her ear, reaching around her with a glass of port.

"Nothing whatsoever," she replied, turning to kiss his cheek. "I was just admiring the whole image."

"I presume you've not _snooped_ …?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, my dear," she answered with a sigh, leaning back against his chest.

They stood silently for a bit, each taking some time to appreciate all they'd done to make their first Christmas together perfect. Charles looked at Elsie and could immediately tell from the look on her face that she was running through her mental checklist; he knew her so well he could see it in his own mind, as if it had been written in her delicate cursive: _table from the Abbey …_ _check. Enough chairs? Yes … Gifts under the tree? All there … Duck for roast, duck for stew, pies, cheeses, pudding …_

"What?" Elsie's voice startled her husband from his imaginings, and he smiled at her.

"Everything is in hand, yes?"

She chuckled softly. "I do believe so. Thank you – this looks _perfect_. It was so nice to be able to do this together, for _us._ "

Charles wrapped his arms around her, being careful not to spill the wine out onto the floor. "The shortbread should be finished. I'll set it out to cool and bank the fires. Should we then take these glasses up to bed, darling?"

She looked up at him with a smirk and raised her eyebrows to match his own. "I thought you'd never ask."

oOoOoOoOoOo

Charles rose at the crack of dawn, rolled over, and simply enjoyed watching his wife sleep. He loved how calm her face was as she was dreaming, a tiny smile sometimes curling the edges of her soft mouth. Occasionally she would mutter things as she dreamed throughout the night – often in Gaelic, which he found quite interesting – but as the hours went on she would calm, seemingly sleeping more deeply as the sun began to rise. He thought it so strange, remembering how they'd both been up before the knock when employed at the Abbey. _Retirement definitely changed us_ , he thought for the hundredth time.

Somehow managing to get out of bed without waking Elsie, Charles donned his dressing gown and tiptoed downstairs to get their meal in the oven. He placed some food in the cat's dish and got a fire going in the parlour, then crept back up to the bedroom where he shed the dressing gown once again and crawled back into bed next to his wife. He cuddled up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist, smiling as she reached for it in her sleep, curling her own arm around his. Minutes later, content and warm, he fell asleep once again.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Happy Christmas!" Beryl blew into the cottage as though she were being carried in on the breath of a storm. "It smells _wonderful_ in here!"

"Thank you – high praise, coming from you," said Elsie, giving her friend a kiss on the cheek. "Let me take your coat and hat, and you can get settled in." She leaned in and added in a whisper, "Charles is in the parlour – with the whisky." She winked.

"Ah, the man's a keeper, Elsie Carson – I did always try to tell you," Beryl answered.

"You said no such thing!" Elsie chided. "But yes … he is." She blushed, and Beryl let out a cackle as she turned to head into the next room.

"I'll leave that for now, Mrs. Carson, but once I've had some of that fine drink, well, _anything's_ possible!"

Elsie shook her head. "You behave yourself, Mrs. Patmore! It's Christmas … pretend it's your gift to us all!"

Beryl's laughter carried across the house as Elsie turned to Daisy and gave the young woman a brief hug. "Daisy, I'm so glad you could join us. How is Mr. Mason?"

"He's not been well, Mrs. Carson, but he's on the mend. He had a bout with a rather nasty cold this week and asked me not to come by," she answered sadly.

Elsie reached out and patted Daisy's hand. "Well, you're always more than welcome here. I'm sorry he's ill but I would be lying if I said we weren't happy to see you."

"Thank you for inviting me," said Daisy. "Can I help you with anything in the kitchen?"

Elsie shook her head. "No, I think we've got it all in hand for now, but thank you."

"Alright. Anna said to tell you they'd be arriving just after us, and Mrs. Crawley was heading out at the same time we were ... I'm surprised she's not here yet, now that I think about it, seeing as how we walked ..."

"Oh," Elsie deflected, walking Daisy into the parlour, "I think she had a stop to make first, but she'll be here eventually." Elsie was well aware that Isobel and Richard had been keeping their – _relationship, that's what it is, really_ – a secret from everyone at the big house, but she was certain that Isobel would be bringing him along as requested.

Daisy nodded, heading over to place a kiss on Charles's cheek. "Happy Christmas, Mr. Carson."

Charles blushed from his neck to the roots of his hair. "Thank you, Daisy, and I wish you the same. Please, make yourself comfortable," he said, indicating the chair opposite where Beryl had sat. He handed Daisy a glass of wine and she nodded her thanks, but headed to the tree instead of sitting by the fireside.

"Ohhh, these are _lovely_ ," she murmured. "Mrs. Patmore, look …"

Daisy had never seen a proper Christmas tree aside from the one at the Abbey, and she was quite moved by the beauty of the Carsons' ornaments. With nothing needing doing at the moment, Charles sent his wife a smile and a wink across the room, then joined their friends at the tree. "Do you see this one here? This was …"

Elsie headed out of the room, smiling as the sound of his voice trailed off the further away she got. She arranged some biscuits on a platter, and then heard a knock at the kitchen door just before it burst open.

"Oh, Anna! It's _freezing_ out there – come in quickly, girl!" Anna tumbled in along with a gust of snow, followed closely by John and Brenna. The little girl's eyes were sleepy, her cheeks rosy, her hair glistening with snowflakes that were becoming little droplets of water along her brow.

"The snow came out of nowhere," John said quietly. He nodded his head toward the back of the cottage, where Brenna's room was located. "May I?" he asked, lifting Brenna slightly.

"Of course," replied Elsie. "The fire is already going in there, so she should be quite comfortable."

"She refused to nap today," complained Anna, "and was quite fussy on the way here. We don't mean to let her sleep long, though, or you'll _never_ get her down later tonight. Are you sure you don't mind keeping her over?"

"Not at all! You know we love having her," Elsie answered, "and with you having tomorrow off … well … I'm sure you wouldn't mind a bit of time alone." She gave Anna a pointed look and a smile, then turned away before they were both suitably embarrassed. "Head on through, please. Charles is explaining the history of all the ornaments on the tree, and I don't think you've missed much."

Anna looked in and smiled fondly at the scene before her: Charles stood by the tree, holding up something that looked like a toy soldier ornament, explaining its history to Beryl and Daisy as the ladies had looks of awe on their faces. Anna heard him say the word 'William,' as she turned back to face Elsie. "He looks like he's truly in his element tonight. I always used to think that when he was working, but here it's _really_ true. He looks _so_ happy – thanks to you, no doubt."

Elsie smiled at her dear girl. "Thank you … it goes both ways." She sighed. "I never thought we'd have this," she continued, her ears picking up on John's voice soothing Brenna into a nap. "But I don't have to tell _you_ that, now do I?"

Anna just shook her head, and both ladies headed into the parlour to join the others.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Anna, John, Beryl and Daisy were settling in comfortably with their drinks as another knock sounded on the door.

"Oh, that'll be Isobel, no doubt," said Charles. Elsie made to answer the knock but Charles held out a hand to stop her. "No, go and eat. I'll get it." He kissed her temple and headed to answer the door as she turned around, having completely missed the twinkle in his eye and the look he sent to the others over her head: _Don't say a thing._

Elsie made her way to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on the cheese board, and she was rinsing her hands at the sink when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Carson," came a quiet voice from just behind her.

Elsie whipped around, her jaw hitting the floor. " _Tom?!"_ She wrapped him in her arms, then let him go as she felt another tap somewhere around her waist. "And Miss Sybbie!" she exclaimed, cupping the girl's cheek in her hand.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Carson!" she shouted, clearly filled with glee that they'd surprised her.

"But how- ? When- ?" Elsie shook her head.

"We planned it last month. I knew we'd be coming back to visit the family, and Mary cooked this up with your husband weeks ago. We'll be here two months, actually. We were hoping to surprise you – none of us thought it would work, mind you, keeping a secret from the 'Secret Keeper.'"

Elsie just shook her head in astonishment, unable to believe that the Bransons were standing in her home. She turned to find Charles and noticed that everyone had crept over to the kitchen door … and then it dawned on her.

" _Wait_ ," she said, tears spilling from her brilliant blue eyes as she turned her gaze in turn to her husband and then Beryl, Daisy, John and Anna – and Isobel and Richard, who'd evidently arrived in the same car as the Bransons. "You _all_ must have known if they were at the _house_!"

"Oh, we've known since they arrived last _Wednesday_!" Beryl shrieked.

"It was all I could do not to say anything at church last night," Anna added softly. "Thank goodness Brenna isn't speaking yet, because she was so taken with Miss Sybbie that I think they'll be great friends someday."

"I do hope so," added Tom. "So – Happy Christmas."

Elsie felt Charles lay his hand on her shoulder, and she turned to gaze into his eyes. He bent over and whispered in her ear, "I thought, for this first Christmas anyhow, you should really have _all_ your chicks under one roof."

She had no words in response, so she settled for shaking her head and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "We've no gifts for them," she muttered.

"He insisted that we should not, Elsie – he made a point of insisting, _twice_ I might add. He said being able to spend Christmas here was all the gift he needed. And Miss Sybbie is taken care of, have no fear," he murmured.

"Oh, you darling man … thank you for arranging this." And with another kiss on the cheek, she turned back to face their waiting guests.

oOoOoOoOoOo

After about an hour, the sounds of chatter and catching up with one another died down as everyone tucked into the fabulous dinner that Elsie and Charles had put together. They'd set the extra table and chairs borrowed from the Abbey up against their own, making an L-shaped dining area that took up almost their entire kitchen. They had set the food up as a buffet on the counter, despite Charles's protestations that Isobel, Richard and Tom should _never_ be asked to serve themselves; he'd also been quite bothered by the thought that members of the _family_ would be supping on such a simple meal. Elsie had shushed him a few times and, when that didn't work, she simply ignored him. She managed to keep the peace tonight by asking Daisy to help her fill dishes as everyone made their way through.

In addition to the fabulous stew there was a cold meats plate, assorted cheeses (well-paired with the wines Charles had chosen from his private collection), kidney pie, fruits, nuts, and a multitude of biscuits to be served after the Christmas pudding. It was nothing like what Tom and Isobel had just experienced at the Abbey earlier that day, but they both much preferred the atmosphere at the Carsons' home as it reminded them of life before Downton. They were the outsiders in the family, so to speak, but their friendships with Elsie had fulfilled that part of their lives that they'd been missing for years. Even Beryl was suitably impressed by the meal, knowing how far both of her friends had come in their cooking abilities since leaving the Abbey.

Sybbie finished her meal early and begged her father to let her play on the floor with Brenna, so Anna took her dish into the parlour to supervise. She watched joyfully as Sybbie very patiently fetched the toys Brenna was throwing about and returned them to her, pretending to be a puppy and giving a little "Ruff, ruff!" sound as Brenna squealed in delight. It warmed Anna's heart to see her daughter so easily entertained, and it made her look forward to the day when Brenna would have a younger sibling of her own to play with. She sent up a silent prayer that the day would come sooner rather than later, and caught John's eyes from across the room. He sent her a sweet smile and a wink, and she knew that he had the same thoughts she did.

oOoOoOoOoOo

"Now, let's see … I believe we have a few gifts to pass around," Charles said jovially. With his flushed complexion – due partly to the wine he'd consumed but partly to the added warmth that the large crowd brought to the cottage – he looked as though he could truly play the part of a jolly Father Christmas.

Tom and John had pulled some chairs from the dining table into the parlour so that everyone could gather together. Tom took the opportunity to surreptitiously place a couple of gifts beneath the tree, knowing that no one but John would notice in all the commotion and chatter as supper came to a close. Having done a quick seat-count ( _sofa … chairs …_ ), they added four chairs from the kitchen, figuring that chances were good neither Sybbie nor Brenna would be sitting anywhere but in someone's lap or on the floor.

Charles made his way into the parlour and pulled one of their armchairs closer to the tree. Brenna had crawled in directly behind him, so he bent down and picked her up, settling her onto his lap as he sat. He beckoned for Sybbie to come over for a "secret," and roped her into climbing underneath the tree and pulling out the gifts, then bringing them to him to check the names on the tag. As everyone else filed in and got comfortable, Tom got his first good look at the tree. His heart sang as his eyes fell upon the little doll ornament – it was the spitting image of Sybbie, and he knew it must have been exactly what Sybil looked like as a child. He peered around the tree and spotted Charles watching him. The older man closed his eyes and gave a soft nod to Tom, an acknowledgement that it was, in fact, Lady Sybil Crawley who'd inspired the ornament's purchase. Tom turned away again, feeling for the first time since he'd arrived that his wife wasn't being spoken of or remembered only in hushed tones, but was being honored by those who had cared about her, in a home that was currently filled with people who'd loved her for who she truly was. The irony of it didn't escape him, either: while it was true that no one had said a word to him about Sybil throughout the entire evening, that one little nod to her on the Carsons' tree spoke volumes.

Once everyone was settled, Sybbie asked Charles if they could begin, and he nodded in reply.

 _What's he up to now,_ thought Elsie, watching from the furthest seat back from the tree. But once she saw what the plan was, she was overjoyed: _It's all about family and friends … but this bit IS especially for the children._ Isobel was next to her, and she caught her friend's soft smile, knowing she, too, was amused by their very own 'Father Christmas.'

Sybbie could read quite well for her age, but the use of everyone's first names was confusing to her. Everyone watched her with joy on their faces as she burrowed under the low branches, emerged with a gift, handed it to Charles, and put her ear up for him to whisper who it was really for.

"This one's for 'Anna and John,'" she whispered, a rather large package in her little hands.

"Ahh … that's Brenna's Mama and Papa," Charles whispered back with a wink. Sybbie nodded quite seriously, then headed over to Anna with her package.

"Thank you, Miss Sybbie," Anna said. "Would you like the ribbon?" Sybbie's eyes lit up as she nodded furiously, plopped down on the floor at her own Papa's feet, and took the shiny ribbon from Anna once she'd untied it from the bundle.

"Thank you," the girl whispered.

"That's going to be one of her favorite 'gifts' of the evening, you watch," murmured Tom, bringing about a chuckle from those directly around him.

"Oh, my," Anna said as she and John peeled away the paper. She looked up and found Elsie across the room. "Thank you _ever_ so much," she said softly.

Inside the package was a new counterpane for their bed. The top fabric was stitched together from six individual pieces, but Elsie had embroidered over the stitches themselves in soft hues of green and yellow, forming a delicate floral pattern that made it appear as though the stitching were never there to begin with. The backing was made of a thicker cotton, perfect for cooler nights in the cottage, and the colors matched the room exactly.

John was rendered speechless as he observed the love that passed between his two favorite women on earth. Never in his entire life had he received a gift such as the one he now held in his hands, not even as a lad when he lived with his mother. This was a gift made by someone who had taken the time to painstakingly create – stitch-by-stitch, quite literally – an item that was priceless. It was truly a labor of love, and he spared a moment to be thankful once again for his place at Downton Abbey, for his friendship of sorts with His Lordship, whose offer of a job all those years ago had brought John to a place where he could learn to experience true friendship, love and, yes, _family_.

Sybbie, however, cared nothing for the pretty blanket that was now resting in John's lap. She was on her way over to Charles, struggling to carry the large box that had (quite surprisingly) not been touched since Elsie laid it under the tree. Elsie watched in delight as her husband, whose own eyes lit up like those on the tree at the thought of _finally_ being able to tear open Elsie's gift, smiled brightly. She nodded to Richard, who winked at her and smiled, rather excited himself to see the expression that would be on his friend's face as the package was opened. Charles stood and handed Brenna off to Anna, then resumed his seat. He tore off the gift wrap and lifted the top of the box, moved aside the tissue paper, then paused, his eyes widening in disbelief. He looked at Richard, who asked, "Well, Charles? How about it? We could certainly use you, as you well know."

Charles reached into the box and lifted out a cricket bat and a new set of cricket whites. He looked at Elsie, still relatively speechless, and she answered the unasked question:

"It _is_ one gift, technically – it's a cricket _ensemble_ and, before you say one word, Charles Carson, the bat is from Richard and Isobel." She reached over and grasped Isobel's hand, squeezing it in thanks before she wondered if she should not have mentioned them together, aloud, as though they were a true couple. A quick look around the room, however, put her mind at ease, as everyone was quite focused on the new bat that Charles was turning over in his hands. Elsie had fretted that she couldn't have purchased the new uniform _and_ the bat as it would have violated the "one gift rule," but she knew that Charles's own bat was in as dire need of replacing as his old cricket whites, which had become a bit too snug since the relaxation of married and retired life had caught up with him. Richard had come up with the perfect solution, a rather selfish one, he readily admitted.

"You want me to play for the village team?" he finally managed, looking first at Elsie and then at Richard.

Richard cocked his head sideways, scrunching his eyes in a slight grimace, as though what he had to say might not be so well received. "Actually, we'd like you to _take charge_ of the village team. Now that is _not_ to say that we'd expect you to use any 'insider knowledge' about the house team in order to do so but, well, we're really rather _awful_ as it stands, and since you cannot play for the house team any longer …" He trailed off.

Charles thought for a moment, his face breaking into a smile once again. He began to nod, and Elsie and Richard could already see him processing what he knew about each player on the village team – positions played, strengths, weaknesses – and he hummed, "Yes … I think I'd enjoy that _very_ much." He pulled himself from his imaginings and looked once again at his wife and friends. "Thank you," he said softly.

"You're welcome," said Isobel. "The prospect of this year's game just became _vastly_ more interesting!"

Sybbie had been waiting so very patiently that Elsie took pity on the girl. She got up from her seat on the sofa and squatted down so that she was eye-level with Sybbie, whispering, "Let's hand the rest out now and everyone can open them at once. What do you say, hm?" Sybbie squealed and nodded, and fetched the packages for Elsie, who handed them out to everyone else.

Richard received a very nice bottle of wine from Charles, and Isobel cooed over the scarf that Elsie had crocheted for her. Elsie opened the gift from Beryl and Daisy – a lovely ceramic platter that would be both decorative and functional. Beryl gasped in delight at the new apron Elsie had made for her, and Daisy was overcome at the books Charles had purchased for her. At Elsie's prompting, he had chosen a copy of his favorite novel by Dickens and Elsie's favorite book of poetry.

"Thank you both so much for these," said Daisy quietly.

"Well," Elsie replied, "your studies are so very important to you, as we all know, but sometimes it's nice to have something a bit more _entertaining_ to read." She smiled and Daisy nodded.

Charles received a rather expensive bottle of brandy from Richard, a fact that made him rather uncomfortable as he'd already received the cricket bat, and Isobel had gifted Elsie a lovely new fountain pen. When the two women had been shopping, Elsie had splurged on a new stationary set for herself, and had been eyeing the pen but had chosen not to purchase it. Isobel returned the very next morning to get it. Charles opened their gift from Anna and John, which was a simple yet lovely photo frame, a picture of Brenna set inside of it. He passed it around the room, and when it made it back to him he got out of his seat and placed it on the mantle. Just then, Sybbie appeared in front of Elsie once again, handing her a small box.

"This one is from Mr. Carson," Sybbie said quietly, "but Papa and I hid it at the big house until tonight." She giggled at the thought, making everyone else in the room laugh along with her.

"Ahh, I see Mr. Carson isn't the only sneaky one in this house tonight," Elsie replied, reaching out to tickle Sybbie under the chin. Sybbie squealed and ran to Tom's side as Elsie sat back, box in hand. She could feel everyone's eyes upon her and was suddenly shy at opening the box in front of them all.

"Go on," Isobel prompted softly, then added in a whisper only Elsie could hear, "if it were _that_ risqué it would be in a bigger box."

Elsie let out a loud laugh at that, finally tearing open the paper and lifting the box lid. "Oh, Charles," she gasped, "it's lovely."

Inside the box sat a new brooch. It was silver in color, in the shape of a heart, a filigree design covering the surface. It wasn't too showy to wear to church on Sundays but would also dress up any outfit she wore it with. In short, it was perfectly Elsie.

She got up and crossed the parlor and, much to her husband's embarrassment, placed a thank-you kiss to his lips. "Thank you, love," she whispered. "It's perfect." And then what could have been an uncomfortable moment in any home but the Carsons' was lightened by Beryl Patmore's very loud "Awww" and sigh, followed by a roomful of giggling.

Sybbie handed Charles another gift, but it had no tag on it. "Papa said it's for you, Mr. Carson, from him and Aunt Mary."

Charles looked up at the younger man with a furrowed brow, but Tom just said, "Go on, then, open it and see."

Charles tore off the elegant paper and revealed a copy of _A Visit from St. Nicholas_. Elsie, who was now standing by his shoulder, gasped as she spotted the title, watching her husband as his large fingers delicately traced the lettering and the gold foil that embellished the cover. She squeezed his shoulder lovingly and he looked up at her briefly, each of them sharing in a ghost of a memory from a Christmastime encounter now decades gone by.

"Sybil told me how you used to read it to them," Tom said quietly. "I asked Mary about it, and she purchased it the next day in London. You've a new generation of girls to share it with now, from what I can see."

"Thank you for this," Elsie replied, realizing that Charles was too overcome at the moment to speak. "Please believe me when I say that you've truly no idea what it means to him, to _both_ of us." She bit her lip furiously to keep from crying, and Sybbie held up the last gift to her, yet another with no tag.

"Oh, Miss Sybbie, that one is for _you_ ," Charles whispered. "Why not go over with your Papa and open it?"

Sybbie's squeal drew Brenna's attention, and both girls made their way to Tom's lap. "Alright, darling, now open it carefully."

Sybbie took the ribbon off slowly, setting it down with the collection of others that everyone in the room had given to her as the opening of gifts had worn on. She encouraged Brenna to help her tear off the paper, feeling guilty that she'd gotten a gift while Brenna had not. Anna had explained that Brenna had already received a gift last night from the Carsons, but Sybbie was not to be deterred, her Papa having already instilled in her the importance of sharing. As Tom assisted them in opening the box, he pulled out the item that rested on top and handed it to Sybbie, who quietly told Brenna, "You may hold it for now, if you wish." It was a soft, stuffed bunny, one that appeared to be handmade but was quite lovely indeed. Brenna grasped it forcefully and promptly stuffed one of its ears in her mouth. Sybbie then reached in and pulled out the other item: a book.

"The Ve …, Vel …," she tried. "Papa, what does it say?"

" _The Velveteen Rabbit_ ," he read to her. He looked up at Charles, who nodded.

"Yes, it's a rather new children's book. Somehow I think Miss Sybbie will enjoy it very much, indeed."

"Thank you," replied Tom. "It was quite thoughtful of you. Sybbie loves animals, and the pictures in this are lovely."

"Papa, may we read it _now_?" Sybbie begged, receiving a chorus of laughter from everyone gathered.

"How about we pass around some biscuits for everyone first," Elsie said, "and _then_ , if you ask particularly nicely, perhaps Mr. Carson will read it to us all as he picked it out."

"I think that's an excellent idea," replied Charles. He got up and made his way to the kitchen, and Elsie started to follow before turning around and quipping, "We are all quite aware that he's referring to the _biscuit_ portion of that statement, correct?" She headed toward the kitchen once again, jumping away from a playful swat from her husband as the parlour erupted into laughter once more.

As Elsie reached for a platter on which to arrange the biscuits and cakes she and Charles had prepared the day before, he reached out and took her hand.

"Cricket, Elsie? Are you sure? It's quite a large time commitment, to do what Richard is asking."

"Are you truly mad, Charles? You'll _love_ it! It will make you happy, and it gives you a chance to remain a part of the tradition of the game." She faltered for a moment, suddenly second-guessing the entire plan. "You do _want_ to do it, don't you?"

"I must say, I do. I'm quite looking forward to it, but it will put more of the responsibilities for the cottage and for watching Brenna – who will be up and actually _running_ in no time from the looks of things – onto you."

"Oh, hush," she said, reaching up on her tiptoes for a quick kiss. "I may be old, but I'm not _that_ old!"

oOoOoOoOoOo

Tom, Sybbie, Anna, and John left for the Abbey along with Beryl and Daisy, heading back just before midnight approached. Tom had called for cars from the house, insisting on driving everyone back despite the relative mild weather Christmas night. An evening of eating, drinking, and generally making merry with the house full had put everyone into a festive mood, but as the night wore on the long day caught up with all of them. After much conversation and stories about bunnies and Saint Nick, the two youngest among them were falling fast asleep. Elsie had quietly offered to keep Sybbie, but Tom declined, knowing that she'd want to share her new book and toy with George as soon as they woke in the morning.

As Charles closed the door behind the large group, he heard Elsie and Isobel chattering away in the kitchen. It still bothered him that Isobel insisted on helping out whenever she was at the cottage, but he'd long since realized he had lost that particular battle. He filed it away in the part of his brain where he'd put the discomfort of the buffet-style dinner earlier that night.

"A nightcap?" he asked Richard, raising both his eyebrows and the new bottle of brandy. Richard nodded, and reached for the snifters.

"Charles," Elsie called from the kitchen. "Would you gentlemen mind getting this table outside for me? It was lovely to have it tonight, but it's in the way now."

"Of course, be right there." The snifters were placed on the side table as he and Richard headed outside, Richard casting a meaningful glance Elsie's way as he passed her, a glance that was thankfully unnoticed by Isobel.

"We should carry the chairs out as well," Isobel added, and Elsie ever-so-grateful for the woman's task-oriented mind.

As the women brought the extra chairs out, Charles and Richard set them down on the patio next to where they had laid the table. Isobel carried the last one out and handed it to Richard, not noticing that Elsie had rapidly headed back into the cottage, pulling a confused ex-butler with her.

"Elsie?"

"Shhh … trust me," she whispered, pointing through the kitchen window at the scene before them.

Charles watched in awe as Richard took Isobel by the hand, sat her on the chair he'd just rested on the patio, and bent down on one knee in front of her.

" _Elsie? Did you KNOW about this?_ "

She nodded guiltily. "Please don't be cross that I didn't tell you. He mentioned it last week, asked me for guidance in choosing a ring. I think it intimidated him, her being a Crawley and all, not knowing what expectations she may or may not have had. It took a good deal of convincing that the grandiose manner of the family means very little to her. But no one else knew, and he swore me to secrecy."

"Well, I suppose this was quite the secret-keeping Christmas then, wasn't it?" he answered, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "When you mentioned heading up to the Abbey the other day I wasn't sure how to distract you away from it. I was so afraid you'd see Tom there."

Elsie turned sharply and stared at her husband.

"What?" he questioned, confused by her stare.

"' _Tom?'_ That's the first time you've called him that without hesitation, you do realize?"

"Well … yes … perhaps it's time." He pulled her into his side and squeezed her in a sideways hug as they both turned back to peer out the window.

The snow had started to fall, gentle flakes dancing about in the breeze, but it didn't appear that their friends noticed one bit. The miraculous picture took Charles's breath away, eerily reminiscent of a similar proposal several years ago; it was one which he was certain he'd been the only one to witness as he'd happened to glance out the window of the Abbey that night and wonder why Lady Mary was outside without her coat ... and then he'd spotted Matthew and understood. He knew the significance wouldn't be lost on Isobel, either; it was as though Matthew himself had sent down a blessing of happiness to his mother.

When the newly-engaged couple finally made their way back in, it was snowing in earnest and they were quite covered in rapidly-melting snowflakes. "Perhaps you should stay a bit longer, wait out the weather?" Elsie suggested.

Isobel couldn't help the brilliant smile that was on her face, and she nodded in answer. She felt this was the best Christmas she'd had since well before losing Matthew, and she knew that was because this entire evening had so closely resembled what her life had been before ever coming to Downton: a modest home, good friends, simple wants and needs, and joy to share with a man she truly loved. She loved her family at Downton, of course, but that way of life was so _complicated_ despite its apparent simplicity. Concerning herself with what to wear or not to wear, with attending formal dinners even if only three people were in the house at the time, the endless needs of the myriad staff. While that type of lifestyle was changing, it wasn't happening fast enough for Isobel. She turned and sent Richard a brilliant smile, knowing that the choice she'd made was the right one for _her_ , despite whatever the family may think once they found out.

Elsie was thrilled for Isobel, of course, hugging the woman through her own tears, having known for quite a while now that Isobel wanted nothing more than to be Richard Clarkson's wife, that she'd accept in an instant if only he would ask her properly. Charles grasped Richard's hand in a firm handshake and, finally, poured four snifters of brandy.

"A toast," he intoned, "to our dear friends. May the best you've ever seen be the worst you'll ever see. May you always be just as happy as we wish you now to be."

"A Scottish toast?" Richard asked. "Elsie, have you been giving away our secrets?"

She laughed. "Nooo, thank you very much. Have you forgotten, the man was a butler for years, serving half of Britain by the end of it? He picked up quite a bit along the way, I daresay," she said, looking proudly at Charles.

"You'll be my best man, of course," Richard said to Charles, in a tone that brokered no argument. "You must agree."

Charles was touched. "I'd be honored, thank you," he answered. Then, stealing a glance at Elsie, he added, "I think we'll need to continue to stand together to keep an eye on _those_ two!"

oOoOoOoOoOo

An hour and a half later Elsie and Charles were finally tucked into bed, full of food and brandy and, quite honestly, fatigue. The day had been a tremendous success all around, and they just lay there in one another's arms, thankful for all of the blessings in their lives. He smiled and hummed softly, and Elsie turned her head to look up at his face, a silent question in her eyes.

"I was just remembering Miss Sybbie's story," he said softly.

"Were you?"

"I _was_ ," he replied seriously, placing a gentle kiss to her lips as she brushed her fingertips across his bare chest.

"Which part?" She nestled her head back down onto his chest, her ear pressed against it so that she could hear his heartbeat and feel his voice when he spoke.

Charles gathered his thoughts for a moment, and then recited the passage from memory.

"Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand … [and] once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always."

He reached a finger under her chin, tilting her head up once again so that he could see into her eyes.

" _You've_ made _me_ 'Real,' Elsie. This home, our lives, our friends … I have a family now, a _proper_ family, and it's all thanks to you."

"Happy Christmas, love," she whispered, kissing a stray tear from his eyelashes.

"Happy Christmas, Mrs. Carson."

* * *

 **If you're so inclined, please do leave a review! Thank you!**


	9. You Are the Sunshine of My Life

**A/N: Hey, so this story is back! I'm so sorry, I got caught up in "Who We Truly Are" and, well, this got back-burnered for a bit. And, you know, real life/work stuff.**

 **Anyhow, here's almost 4K words of pure fluff. Enjoy! Many thanks to brenna-louise for proofreading work. ~hugs~**

 **Song choice (found on my Spotify, "Music of Our Lives"):** _ **You Are the Sunshine of my Life,**_ **by the incomparable Stevie Wonder.**

 **Drop me a note if you're still with me! xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 ** _You are the sunshine of my life_**

 ** _That's why I'll always be around,_**

 ** _You are the apple of my eye,_**

 ** _Forever you'll stay in my heart._**

 ** _I feel like this is the beginning,_**

 ** _Though I've loved you for a million years ..._**

* * *

 ** _1927_**

Charles heard the pounding footsteps coming up the gravel and thrust the door open, reaching down just in time to protect his legs.

"Gwanddad!" Brenna squealed, hurtling herself full-force into Charles's open arms. "I wuf you, Gwanddad." The little girl wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed very tightly as Charles picked her up and held her, squeezing her right back with reserved strength as he kept in mind that the little ball of fire was not even two years old.

"And I love _you_ , my darling lass," he whispered, kissing her temple. "Shall we see what Granny made for you yesterday? Shall we see if she made … _biscuits_?"

Brenna's eyes lit up and she loosened her hold around his neck and settled her bottom into the crook of his elbow as he carried her into the house. Anna followed slowly, the weight of Brenna's new baby brother or sister seeming to increase with every step she took. "Just one, if you please," Anna advised, "or she'll never eat her dinner."

Charles turned and looked at Anna with his best attempt at innocence. "And what, precisely, are you suggesting?"

"That she's just like her Granddad!" Anna laughed as she entered the cottage through the door that Charles was holding open for her. "Oh, it's so much cooler in here!" she gasped, relieved. Despite it being only March, the air outside was unseasonably warm and heavy, and the walk to the Carsons' cottage had all but done the woman in. "I swear it got hotter with every step away from the Abbey."

Elsie handed her girl a glass of cold water. "Here, get this in you, before you pass out! You look as if you're burning up!"

Anna nodded. "I'm not sure what it is, I didn't feel this way at all with Brenna."

Elsie smiled at her. "Then perhaps it's a wee lad?" She knew how much Anna wanted to give John a son, and realized this would likely be their last child. Anna had struggled for so long to conceive both of her children, and Dr. Clarkson had advised her that it may never happen again.

"I do hope so," Anna responded. She looked up and saw Charles moving slowly over toward the biscuit tin as Elsie was distracted by chatting with Anna; however, she feared not, for – right on time – Elsie reached behind herself while she was chatting and swatted his arm.

"Just what do you think _you're_ doing, Mr. Carson? Ruining someone's dinner, I think!"

"It's just one biscuit, Elsie – she'll be fine."

Elsie laughed, turning around and kissing him on the cheek. "It's not _her_ dinner I was worried about, you daft man! You've already eaten half the contents of that tin!"

Anna burst out laughing, a sound that was still so gleeful to Elsie's ears. "Why am I not surprised?"

Charles had the decency to look sheepish, hanging his head and looking sideways at Brenna. "I think I've been scolded," he whispered.

Brenna, ever the co-conspirator, nodded. She then faced Elsie with a pleading glance. "Pwease, Gwanny? One biscuit?"

Elsie sighed, knowing right away where this was heading. "Alright, lass, but don't make a mess down your Granddad's shirt, do you hear?"

Brenna nodded furiously, her dark tresses bouncing about her face, and Elsie handed her a piece of shortbread. The beautiful girl took an enormous bite, then promptly offered the remainder to Charles. He took a small nibble and winked at her, ignoring his wife's exasperated sigh and the shaking of her head.

Anna rolled her eyes at the entire scene, knowing there was nothing she could do or say to deter this behavior. As much as Elsie loved that darling little lass, it was Brenna's Granddad whose heart she'd truly stolen away, and everyone in the room knew it.

 **oOoOoOoOo**

"No, no, you ladies catch up on gossip." Charles reached into the toy box that he and Elsie kept in the parlour and pulled out a ball. "Hmmm … I wonder," he said, tapping his chin as he looked up at the ceiling, "I wonder if there's _anyone_ in this house that would like to go outside and play?"

"Me!" Brenna shouted, tugging on the leg of his trousers. "Pwease, Gwanddad – outside?"

Anna chuckled as Charles reached down and swooped Brenna up into the air and onto his shoulders. He handed her the ball, which she needed two hands to grasp despite how easily it had fit in his own palm. "Now don't drop that," he advised, "because I won't be able to bend down and get it with you up there, and you might _fall off._ "

Brenna giggled, knowing by now the routine that they had. Playing outside with Granddad was one of Brenna's favorite things to do, and he managed to bring her out every time she visited. "Awight," she managed to get out in between giggles.

Charles bent over _very_ far in order to not smack Brenna's head on the way out the door, keeping a tight hold on her ankles as her body swung down in front of his face and chest. He was sure her peals of laughter could be heard for miles. Once they were through the doorway, Charles righted them slowly and they headed out to the back patio, which was blocked in enough that when Brenna missed catching the ball it wouldn't go too far. He shooed Thunder off of his chair and sat, placing Brenna on the ground before him.

"Okay, now, do you remember?"

Brenna nodded furiously. "Yes, Gwanddad." She backed up a few steps until Charles told her to stop, and she concentrated on swinging her hands down between her legs, holding the ball as she did so.

"Alright then – _gently_ ," he encouraged her. Brenna nodded again, and then tossed the ball to him, marveling at how he caught it in one hand.

"Yay!" she cheered, clapping for him. "Now me, pwease."

Charles smiled and tossed the ball very gently her way, laughing as she reached up and hugged it from the air in front of her. "Nicely done!" he praised her, and her face lit up with an enormous smile.

They managed to toss the ball back and forth for quite a while, and Charles marveled at how many times his wee little lass managed to actually catch it in her arms.

"Alright, now step back a bit … one step, two steps … a little more … good! Let's see if you can catch it from _there!_ " Charles tossed the ball to her, and had to try very hard not to laugh as she jumped valiantly to catch the ball, only to have it go sailing over her head. A few attempts later, though, and she had it.

"Come here, love," he called to her, sensing that she was beginning to tire of the game. "I think you've got something on your face."

Brenna approached him and Charles reached out and nipped her cheek gently with his knuckles. "No, wait, I think it's moved," he said, brow furrowed. Brenna giggled as he tweaked her other cheek. "No … now it's over here …" He pretended to concentrate as his lovely girl dissolved into fits of unbridled laughter. "Wait, _here_ it is!" he exclaimed, reaching out and grabbing her entire body in both hands, lifting her up so that they were face to face. "Right _here_ – I'll kiss it off!" He leaned over and placed several kisses to her forehead, trying valiantly not to get hit in the nose by her head as she squirmed and laughed in his hands.

"I wuf you, Gwanddad," she said again, her laughter dying down.

Charles looked at her, saw the unconditional love in her big, bright eyes. "I wuf you, too, my darling, wee lass," he said, accepting her hug as she wrapped her arms around him again.

 **oOoOoOoOo**

"Good-bye, dear, and we'll see you at church on Sunday." Elsie hugged Anna as Charles packed up a snack for Brenna ("So you don't get hungry on the _long walk_ back to the Abbey," he'd whispered to her, winking as she gave him a solemn nod). "Give our love to John," Elsie added.

"I shall," Anna said, moving to kiss Charles on the cheek before turning to look down at her daughter. "Alright, Brenna? Are you all ready?"

"Almost, Mama," the girl replied politely, heading over to give Elsie one last hug and kiss. "Now I'm weady."

Elsie closed the door behind them as she and Charles stood on the stoop and watched Anna and Brenna head back to the Abbey. "It is warm, isn't it?" Elsie said. "I hadn't realized. Poor Anna, she's quite uncomfortable."

Charles reached out and took Elsie's hand. "She'll be _fine_ ," he reassured softly. "Come on, let's take a walk and you can tell me what you ladies got up to, hm? Shall we bring a basket then, have our supper by the lake?"

Elsie nodded, smiling up at her wonderful man. "That would be _wonderful._ " She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed his chin before they headed back inside.

Charles grabbed a blanket as Elsie filled the basket with a light supper, and they headed on their way. The sun was starting its slow descent, but they had a good couple of hours before sunset and took their time walking down to the lake, stopping every now and then to share the weight of the basket, to share a kiss, and to just take some time to appreciate the beauty and peacefulness around them.

As the path opened up Elsie's eyes fell upon the bench, the one Charles had so lovingly and thoughtfully picked out for her, and she smiled at him. The sunlight was hitting the wood – and her hair – at just the right angle, and she could see that he was overcome with emotion.

Charles reached out and brushed his fingers across the hair at her temple, grayer now than it had been a year ago, and stretched his fingers to gently place the wind-loosened strands back into the overall arrangement. "Beautiful," he whispered. She blushed and shook her head, but he reached out and stopped the movement, his fingers grasping her chin as he took a step toward her.

"Elsie," he admonished, "don't argue." He trailed his fingers across her jawline and buried them in her hair. He kissed her rather passionately, then pulled away. " _Beautiful._ "

She sighed as she reflected for the millionth time how lucky she truly was.

She deposited the basket on the bench, and reached out to tap Charles on the arm as he was beginning to unfold the blanket. "Come down to the water with me," she suggested, "just for a bit. I'm rather warm and I think I'd like to paddle about a bit."

"Alright, then," he agreed. He kicked off his shoes and removed his socks, and as he was rolling up his trouser legs he realized how comfortable he was with this now, and how far he'd come since that day at the beach a few years ago. He diverted his eyes as Elsie removed her shoes and stockings, well aware that if he watched her do that there was a good chance neither of them would actually make it into the water. When they were both ready he reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly, the look on his face telling her exactly what he'd just been thinking. She chuckled and shook her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Well, if you're looking for ideas …" he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Elsie threw back her head and laughed. "Come down to the water, Charles. There's plenty of time for _that_ later. I want to enjoy what's left of this lovely weather before it's too hot to even walk down here and back. It'll arrive before we know it."

Charles nodded as they made it to the shore, the water gently lapping at their ankles. He curled his toes into the soft sand, relishing the way the sand and cool water combined to produce a most relaxing feeling. A sigh escaped his lips, and he waded a bit deeper, pulling gently on Elsie's hand so that she'd stay by his side.

They paddled around for a bit, stooping down once or twice to gather up a lovely stone that one of them spotted, and ended up sitting on the edge of the dock as their feet dried. Charles managed to scoot up sideways and lift Elsie up onto his lap so that they were both seated diagonally at the edge, her head bent down and resting on his shoulder and her arms wrapped around him, fingers clasped over his shoulder. They sat like that quite a while, just enjoying the silence and each other's company.

As they watched the sun cast its lovely glow over the landscape, Elsie heard a sudden rumble pass through her husband's body. The familiar sound made her smile. "Oh, what a surprise! Heaven forbid we go _hours_ with not a morsel to eat!"

He playfully swatted her for her cheek, which only made them both laugh. "Go on, you must be hungry, too. It's not my fault my stomach betrays me all the time, making noises that only _you_ can hear!"

Elsie scooted off of his lap and they inched their way – still sitting – toward the dry end of the dock. Charles hopped down onto the dry sand before helping his wife to do the same. As they made their way back to the bench and the basket, Elsie explained what she'd packed.

"There's some cider, two sandwiches from last night's leftover turkey, some apple, and a wedge of cheese." She raised an eyebrow, then added, "There _would_ have been shortbread, but my supply is running dangerously low. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that now, would you?"

"Not at all, my dear," he replied innocently. "Perhaps the cat …"

"The cat! Oh, there you are! Yes, I am sure … a cat weighing fifteen stone or more!"

Charles feigned a hurt look. " _That_ was uncalled for," he admonished with a gleam in his eye. "I believe you should be punished for that, Mrs. Carson."

She tried to look shocked, but within seconds a broad smile and her laughter gave her away completely. "I do love you, Mr. Carson," she said, shaking her head and chuckling. "Let's eat, shall we?"

Charles reached for the bottles of cider and removed the stoppers, handing her one and taking a sip of his own just as he heard her mutter, "Because evidently, someone is going to need his strength later on …"

He didn't quite choke, but it was close.

 **oOoOoOoOo**

After they'd finished eating, Charles arranged the blanket on the bench to provide a cushion, and then he beckoned to Elsie to sit beside him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she laid her head against it once more.

"The sunset is beautiful tonight, isn't it?" she mused. "So red; it'll be another lovely day tomorrow."

"Yes," Charles replied, lazily dragging his fingers up and down the outside of her arm. "I'm so blessed to be able to share these nights with you, Els. I hope you never forget that."

"And how could I ever forget that?" she sighed, a smile on her lips. Her mind was a bit tired and hazy from the cider, and she felt utterly relaxed. "Charles, there's something I'd like to speak to you about … regarding the children."

'The children' always referred to Anna and John. It had been a joke at first, something Charles had said one night when referring to _all_ of the young people they'd left behind at the Abbey. But Elsie had taken to it, feeling as she always had about Anna, and now it was a term that they used frequently, and one which Charles now found endearing beyond measure. "Yes?" Elsie felt his body tense and she knew he'd misunderstood her meaning. "Is everything alright with the baby?" he asked.

"Oh, of course," she soothed him. "No, this is something else entirely." She waited a moment, putting her thoughts together sensibly before diving in. "When Lady Mary came to see you last week, she seemed rather concerned."

She felt him nod, felt the tremble of his shoulder from the movement. "Yes, she was. But what makes you …?" He sighed. "Never mind, I should never doubt your keen perception of any situation in which you find yourself standing. Yes, she was rather upset; she cried, in fact. I wasn't going to tell you, but … how _did_ you know?"

"Evidently there's been talk up at the house – _more_ talk than before, about how Lord Grantham may need to downsize the staff. Anna's worried, Charles, and she's spoken with Lady Mary about it. She thinks Lord and Lady Grantham are considering moving _permanently_ to Grantham House, leaving Lady Mary to run the estate alone."

He nodded slowly in understanding. "And that would separate them," he acknowledged, knowing instantly that John and Anna couldn't bear being separated by so much distance. "But nothing is definite, surely?"

"No, but there is a lot of fear running rampant. Anna and John are rethinking their situation, I think, especially in light of the new bairn. She won't raise him with John so far away, you know."

"Him? You're sure?" he asked, and she heard the teasing in his voice.

Elsie blushed. "Well, yes. It would be nice, wouldn't it? One of each?"

"Is that what you'd have wanted? If we'd had our own?" he asked softly.

Elsie turned and kissed his shoulder. "I'd have taken whatever God had seen fit to bless us with, but I feel that this is how we were meant to be. No regrets, remember?"

Scenes from a tea shoppe in London flitted through his mind. "I remember."

Elsie looked out over the lake, lost in her thoughts for a moment. After a bit, Charles brought her back to the present.

"So … Anna?"

"Yes," she sighed. "So, they're thinking." She paused, ashamed of wondering if she could trust her husband. "Of course, this stays between us and the fish in that lake."

"Of course!" he gasped, astonished that she'd even think to question him … but remembering his unwavering dedication to Lady Mary, he knew where she was probably heading.

"They're thinking of leaving," Elsie murmured. "Thinking of buying the Grantham Arms, of refurbishing and managing the inn, and bringing someone in to do the cooking."

"Seriously?"

She nodded. "Mm-hmm."

Charles pondered this for a moment, turning an idea around in his mind, tilting his head this way and that as he examined it, added to it, and clarified it before speaking aloud.

"And we will support them, of course, however they may need that to happen."

Elsie closed her eyes as a huge smile appeared on her face. When she finally looked up at him, Charles saw that her eyes were filled with tears. "Yes, I'd like to," she said. "We can afford it; we can be silent investors or partners if they prefer, use some of the money we have left from my selling the farm. They'd never accept it as a gift, but it would get them going in the right direction."

Charles hummed his agreement, letting a final thought fall into place. "Yes, and after about a year or so, once they're settled and earning, they could pay us back and we could put the money in an investment plan for Brenna and her baby brother."

Elsie said nothing, but looked fondly at her husband, trying to express through her gaze the depth of her love. She put her hand on his shoulder and pulled herself up a bit higher so that she could place the most loving of kisses to his lips. A few moments later she broke away, tears on her cheeks. "You lovely, lovely man," she whispered. "Yes. That's exactly what we'll do."

"But will they accept?" he asked warily.

Elsie nodded. "Yes, I think so. Anna was apprehensive when we spoke, but I don't think she has any indication that we could help them as much as we can. I think that we're the _only_ people she'd accept help from," she intimated, and Charles understood without asking that Lady Mary must have offered to help Anna and John financially if Downton ever "closed," and that Anna wouldn't accept it.

"Good," he said. "And now, as the sun is setting, we should be heading back soon."

Elsie looked out over the lake, seeing how the deep, crimson color eerily reflected off the pool of water. It was as breathtaking as it was eerie, a vision resplendent in nature's beauty but one that also seemed harsh, angry even. It was a scene she both hated and loved, one which niggled at her most awful memories but, at the same time, created a sense of awe in her at the beauty of this most cherished place that had become her home.

"I never want to leave this place, Charles. Not ever," she whispered, and he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tightly.

"Then you shan't," he whispered into her hair, placing a kiss to the crown of her temple. "But we must be getting back to our other little corner of this lovely world. We've brought no lamp," he admitted sheepishly. He was usually so prepared; Elsie knew instantly that he was embarrassed to have forgotten one.

"No matter, love," she replied. "I'm ready when you are."

They walked hand in hand back to the cottage, silent the entire way, each lost in thought. When they arrived, Charles opened the door and handed the basket he'd carried back to Elsie, leaving her to clean away the remainders of their small meal as he tended to the fires in the bedroom and parlour. While it had been unseasonably warm during the day, he knew the temperatures would plummet once darkness had truly fallen.

Elsie entered the parlour, having put everything away, and reached around her husband's back to hug him from behind. Wordlessly he turned, leaned down, and kissed her soundly. When he finally broke away he was happy to see that Elsie's hair was a bit mussed and that her lips were the smallest bit swollen, her eyes glassy as their dark blue-black color gleamed at him.

"Am I to presume you still have all that pent-up energy, Mr. Carson?" she asked playfully, drawing out the 'r's in his name in a way that always sent a shiver up his neck.

"Why yes, Mrs. Carson, I seem to have quite a bit of it. Whatever shall I do?" he teased.

She turned, grasping his hand as she did so and pulling him along behind her as she made her way to their bedroom. "Well, I have some ideas …"

* * *

 **Of course she does ...**


	10. You and I

**A/N: Feels alert!**

 **There are two flashbacks to "Music of the Heart" here. I presume if you're reading this that you've read that one but, if not, a couple of things at the end of this may make you go, "Hm?"**

 **Thanks to silhouettedswallow and brenna-louise for beta work, which tightened this up considerably.**

 **And, important to note, I don't know a thing about cricket except that it's played with a bat and they wear white. Thanks to Chelsie fan for asking for a cricket match, but I kind of cheated. Lol**

 **Song choice: "You and I," by Petula Clark. It's on my Spotify list.**

* * *

 _ **You and I will travel far together**_

 _ **We'll pursue our little star together**_

 _ **We'll be happy as we are together**_

 _ **We may never get to heaven**_

 _ **But it's heaven, at least to try**_

 _ **July, 1927**_

John Bates, Jr. - Jack, as they called him - had arrived unexpectedly in early April. Like his sister's, his birth was earlier than expected, something that Dr. Clarkson had assured Anna was perfectly normal for some women. Unlike Brenna's birth, thankfully, Jack's had been uneventful.

Anna and John had arrived at the hospital in plenty of time, thanks to the car provided by Lady Mary and the foresight Anna had this time around to not give birth at home. Elsie and Charles had gotten there about an hour before Jack entered the world, meaning Elsie had been able to be there at Anna's side once again to provide support while Charles kept Brenna occupied, first in the waiting area, and then - her two-year-old exuberance a bit much for indoors - outside. Upon hearing the faint wail coming through the window they'd returned inside, where Brenna greeted baby Jack by placing a kiss to his forehead and a whispered _'Hi, Jack. I wuf you.'_ into his ear. Charles had dissolved in tears at the sight of his lovely granddaughter being so sweet - which, of course, had produced the same effect in everyone else.

The blessing of an easy birth had not meant that Jack would be an easy baby, however. He took slowly to nursing, something that frustrated Anna beyond measure. And while she had been excused from work for the next month - a very gracious demand from Lady Mary - John hadn't, and the changes happening at the Abbey had meant one less footman and more duties falling to John by default. Long days at the Abbey were followed by longer nights at the Bates' cottage, as Jack hadn't yet figured out that he was supposed to sleep at night as opposed to during the day. After a week of almost no sleep for either of them, Anna had given up completely and had practically begged Elsie and Charles for help.

That help had manifested in a variety of ways. Mostly, it involved taking Brenna during the daytime so that Anna could sleep. In addition, John was invited to spend at least every other night at the Carsons' home, ensuring he'd get some actual rest, while Elsie had stayed with Anna those nights and resorted to bottle-feeding Jack throughout the night while Anna slept. After two weeks of this, Jack's schedule had normalized a bit, but he'd suffered a common cold and therefore had required steam treatments throughout the day. Charles had assisted in this particular job, Elsie having been exhausted after too many nights of only sleeping one or two hours at a time.

Jack's cold had finally disappeared five days ago and, despite their seemingly unending amount of love for their family, Charles and Elsie had collapsed into bed together that night and for the two following it, gleeful at the prospect of uninterrupted, long, deep sleep. Last night, however, much to her husband's joy, Elsie had suggested that perhaps they were quite well enough caught up on sleep, and other activities that had been rather neglected had recommenced, much to the happiness of both parties.

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

The early May sun peeked in through the curtains, casting a glow on Charles's silver hair. Elsie had woken moments before and discovered his head tucked into the crook of her shoulder, his arm wrapped snugly around her waist. She had no idea how they'd ended up in quite that position, but it didn't matter. She leaned over and kissed the top of his head, taking a moment to draw peace and comfort from the smell of his hair. He stirred slightly, waking, and turned his head to place the gentlest of kisses alongside her breast. Elsie hummed in appreciation, and Charles pushed himself up on the pillow so that she could tuck herself in by his body. Wrapped up in one another once again, they both drifted back off to sleep ...

"Charles! Charles, wake up!" Elsie shook his arm, hard, trying to rouse him from their unexpectedly late slumber.

"Not now."

"Charles, it's late. You must!"

"Elsie, just five more minutes," he mumbled, pulling his pillow over his face.

Frustrated, she blew a piece of hair off of her forehead in a huff. "I'm warning you, Charles Carson," she admonished. She propped herself up on one arm and reached out with her free hand. "Three, two, one …"

"Don't you dare," he said, but it was too late. "Gah! " he cried, his loud laughter ringing through the cottage and scaring the cat as Elsie ran her fingernails across his bare side, tickling him awake once and for all.

"You're up now, then, yes?" she teased. "Because you have plans today, love."

His eyes flew open. "Oh, no!"

"Shhh," she replied, brushing her fingertips over his lips and receiving a kiss for her trouble. "It's not yet nine o'clock, there's nothing to fear. But we should get up soon if you want to be early."

"Oh! That's all, then?" He sighed, relieved, as he rolled over on his side and placed his hand on her hip. "We don't need to be there at _ten_ , Elsie. Noon, game at one o'clock."

"Yes, but I know you don't want to be rushing," she said, trying to ignore how his hand was slowly creeping down her stomach. "Charles!" she gasped, then shot him a warning look.

He reached over and captured her lips in a kiss. "What if I promise _not_ to fall back to sleep?" he asked with one raised eyebrow.

"Really?" she smirked, meeting him eyebrow for eyebrow.

"Really. And … I owe you …"

"Charles, you'll do no such - STOP!" she squealed as he reached up and tickled her ribs, knowing by now _exactly_ what spot was most ticklish. " _Now_ who's causing trouble?" she gasped, trying to catch her breath despite her laughter.

He kissed her again. "Oh, Mrs. Carson, I think we established last night that I'm not the _only_ one who gets up to no good in this room."

Elsie pursed her lips at him, remembering, and gave in.

"That _is_ true," she admitted, biting down on her lip and looking him in the eyes, both of her eyebrows now raised but the expression not masking the playful glint in her eyes. "Fine. You win. But we're out of this bed by _ten_."

"Challenge accepted, Mrs. Carson," he answered, a winning gleam in his eyes as he grabbed his wife and pulled her on top of him as she squealed in delight. "Challenge accepted, indeed."

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

"Elsie! Where's my jumper?" Charles cried, frantically rushing to get ready in time to arrive at the cricket pitch by noon. It was now eleven o'clock, both had fallen back to sleep despite all promises that they wouldn't, and Elsie was frantically trying to throw together a breakfast of substance as Charles ran about the cottage trying to get ready to go.

"In the wardrobe, dear!" she called. "Right where I told you it would be," she added under her breath. _Daft man,_ she thought with a smile.

"Thank you!"

Elsie heard his footsteps pounding down the stairs, and she turned to see him standing in the doorway.

"Will I do, Mrs. Carson?"

Shaking her head, she moved over toward him and reached out to fix his collar. "Oh, you'll do _quite_ nicely for me, my lovely man," she murmured, placing a kiss to his jawbone. "And you'll be fine for the cricket, too. Now, sit so you can eat." Before he could reply she was already back at the stove and fetching bacon from the pan to add to the already-full platter. He stood still, watching her in awe, wondering how she could be in charge of so many things at once - not the least of which, him.

When he didn't move Elsie pointed at the table, indicating for him to sit. "NO arguments, Charles. You need sustenance and I need to sit and catch my breath."

"You'll hear no arguments from me about eating breakfast, love," Charles chuckled, looking upon the food with joy as both he and Elsie finally sat down. "How did you manage to whip this up so quickly?"

"Skill, my dear," she replied with a smile. She made up their cups of tea as Charles filled their plates with eggs, rashers of bacon, and toast. Her chuckle made him look up, a question on his face.

"Oh, it's nothing," she said, placing a cup in front of him. "Just that I was remembering how we'd spend countless mornings at the Abbey just like this …"

"Excuse me?" he asked, flustered.

Elsie saw the look on his face and laughed. " _At the_ _table,_ Charles _._ Me making your tea while you served up our breakfast. You old booby," she said lovingly, letting her thoughts drift.

"Well," she added, "some of the rest _did_ happen there, if I recall … I still can't quite believe we managed to maintain our professional standards, to be honest."

He shook his head. "It was almost impossible," he said, "hiding how _well_ I knew you once we got back from London." He waggled his eyebrows at her as he reached for his toast.

" _Cheeky_ , Mr. Carson," she replied, toeing his leg under the table. "Go on then, eat up! We're leaving in twenty minutes, regardless of whether or not you've finished."

"Yes, _Mrs. Hughes_ ," he replied, a teasing look in his eye, before he tucked heartily into his breakfast.

Elsie watched him eat, her head cocked as she contemplated his presence: measured movements, cutting everything just so; far-away look in his eye; knuckles getting whiter as he clenched the fork in his hands.

"You're nervous," she stated.

Charles's head flew up as he met her gaze. "How do you do that?" he asked with a furrowed brow.

"Do what?"

"Read my mind. How?"

"Years of practice, dear. That, and the fact that you're about to bend that fork in half," she continued, indicating his hand with a motion of her knife. "That would be clue enough to _anyone_ who was paying attention."

He looked down at the table sheepishly, embarrassed at being caught out, even by Elsie.

"I'm quite nervous, truth be told," he said. "It's the first match of the season, and we had trouble getting everyone together to practice. And my brain hasn't exactly been focused on executing the team's strategy, not these past few weeks, anyhow."

"No," Elsie agreed, "and I'm not surprised. Jack's arrival kind of threw us all into a tizzy, didn't it? And with the wedding finally coming up ..."

Charles nodded his agreement. "I know."

"Yes," Elsie replied, drawing Charles's thoughts back to the present, "the last month has been rather busy … but who needs sleep, anyway?"

"Indeed,"' Charles smiled.

Just before all of the chaos with Jack's arrival, Charles had called his first practice session with the village team. He'd developed a loose schedule for them, a difficult task given that most of the players were still employed in the village. The year before - his first year actually leading the team - had been very rough; they'd not played well at all, which had been an embarrassment for Charles. This year, he had vowed to be more demanding and that, coupled with a few new players who'd recently moved to the village, seemed to have made a difference.

Every Saturday had found Charles demonstrating how best to pitch, to bat, and to anticipate each player's strengths and weaknesses. He knew that such observations would lead to better playing overall and that his team would then be able to use that skill when observing their opponents. Today's opponents would be from a neighboring village, but it was a team that was relatively inexperienced, something for which the Downton village team was eternally grateful. And yet Charles was still nervous, particularly after last year's poor showing.

He reviewed everything in his mind as he finished his breakfast, but Elsie could tell that his nerves weren't calmed at all.

"It will go better this year," Elsie assured him. "Have faith in your team and in yourself. And remember … it's only a _game._ " She rose from the table to carry her plate to the sink, pausing to drop a kiss atop her husband's head along the way.

"I love you, you know."

He looked up, smiled at her, and nodded. "I know you do, Els. And I love you back." He reached up for her hand and planted a kiss to her palm, then rose from his chair and checked his watch.

"We leave in ten minutes, my little Scottish distraction. I'll clean up while you go and change."

She just shook her head and laughed at him, muttering as she exited the room - and certain that he'd hear.

"You say that as if you _mind_ being distracted .. _._ "

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

It was unseasonably hot out and, as Elsie and Charles approached the cricket pitch, she was already regretting having worn a blouse with full-length sleeves. She was also taken aback by the amount of people who'd come to watch the match; she had known Beryl and Anna would be there, but it seemed as though half the village had turned out to watch! She stole a glance at Charles and saw the tension all over his face - it seemed that he, too, had noticed the increased number of spectators, and it had driven his anxiety up a few notches. She reached for his hand and gently squeezed it, and she felt her heart warm as he met her glance and laced his fingers through hers. _Thank you,_ his eyes communicated. She smiled and gave him a tiny wink and a nod, just before a wail carried across the field to her ears.

"Jack's here," Charles deadpanned.

Elsie laughed as they joined Anna and Jack at the edge of the playing field.

"Where is everyone else?" Elsie asked.

"I'm not sure, but I think Lady Mary headed off to speak with one of the tenant farmers," Anna replied. "I'm glad she saw the game as a good chance to network," she smirked, "so that we could attend as well."

"And Master George and Brenna?" Elsie looked around but couldn't spot them anywhere.

"Brenna is over playing with Mrs. Wigan's grandson, but she'll be here as soon as she spots you I am sure. I believe Master George is spending the day with Mrs. Crawley," Anna replied.

"Oh, that's right, she did mention that," replied Elsie. "I was surprised she wasn't planning to attend the match, but she gets so little time alone with him."

"She'll have even less once she's married," Anna added with a smile.

Charles gave Elsie's hand one last squeeze.

"Good luck," she told him, kissing his cheek.

"Thank you." He smiled and headed off to get ready for the team to arrive; meanwhile, Elsie joined Anna on her blanket and took Jack from her.

"And how have you been today, a leanaibh*?"

"He was _fine_ all morning," Anna said, "until we got here, when he proceeded to wail horribly, as you just witnessed."

Elsie looked at her girl, who seemed frustrated and exhausted beyond belief despite the fact that, for the last week, Anna had been back to work and Jack had been in the nursery. "Oh, Anna," she said softly, "I am sorry he's been so difficult. I wish I could help you more."

"Are you actually trying to _apologize_? You've both helped more than you'll _ever_ know, believe me! It's only thanks to you that my children have been bathed and fed this last month and a half, to say nothing of your letting John spend so many nights in the peace and quiet of your home."

"Well, my dear, that's what family is for."

Anna smiled. "Yes, I suppose." Then she gazed across the field and tilted her chin toward where Charles was chatting with some other men. "It looks like people are starting to arrive. He must be in his element now! And I'm sure _you_ are excited, too!"

Elsie diverted her gaze out across the field, biting her lip and humming non-committedly. "He is definitely in his element, yes," she said, but Anna was aware that Elsie hadn't expressed everything on her mind.

"Elsie …" she ventured. "Don't tell me you don't _enjoy_ cricket? It's an awfully long time to be here if you don't like it much."

"I _loathe_ it," Elsie whispered.

"Really?"

"It is so _slow_ , I can't stand it. Thank God you've brought the children, or I'd have gone mad! It was so much easier when we all went to the match between the House Team and the Village Team. Then I had my work to keep me busy, and I was cheering on all of our friends. It was nice to have everyone come together like that. Last year I was busy with the hospital and barely came to any of the matches, and it was not a good playing year anyway with the weather. So this year, I really feel that I need to make an effort."

She looked out over the field as more and more team members were arriving. "I don't know half those men, Anna. I know Charles, Richard, and the new vicar who's assisting at the church. _That's it._ None of the 'old crew' are around anymore. Charles has been so busy with the team that the last thing he's wanted to do when he comes home is talk about it. I'm afraid that, while I understand the game, I don't know much about his team at all. I want them to win, of course, but …"

"But it doesn't matter, because you'll swallow your boredom and be a supportive wife," coached Anna. "Because you love him."

"I shall and, please, say nothing to him! Beryl knows I don't enjoy it, because we've spent many years discussing it, but certainly no one else." She looked over the field again. "He loves cricket _so much_ , I can't bear to disappoint him. After all, he supports the work I do with the church and with Isobel, and I know for certain he doesn't support most of _that_."

"I won't say a word," Anna promised. "Oh, look - there's Mrs. Patmore now!"

Elsie looked up and waved at Beryl, who headed over with a basket full of provisions: cold lemonade, beer, cheese, fruit, shortbread and cold chicken.

"Oh, Lordy, is it ever _hot!"_ she exclaimed, plopping down next to Elsie.

"Aye," Elsie replied, "but Charles tells me we can sit with the team once they get going. At least there'll be shade in there."

"God, I hope so! I'm only here until midday anyhow - have to get back to see to dinner, although I don't know why I'm bothering since Daisy will likely have it all sorted anyhow."

"I'm so happy to hear how well she's doing. And she's still interested in taking over someday, despite moving to the Mason farm?"

Beryl nodded. "Six more months," she told her friends. "Six more months and I think I'm handing in my notice. Retiring." She'd looked at Elsie with fond smile. "Retirement is certainly treating _you_ well, figured I should give it a try."

"That it is," Elsie had told her. "And it would be wonderful to be able to spend more time together."

Just then, a squealing toddler ran up behind Elsie and attacked her in a hug, startling her.

"Brenna! Oh, lass, you frightened me!" Elsie admonished.

"I'm sorry, Granny," the girl whispered guiltily.

"That's all right, love, but do be careful. I've got Jack here and he's _almost_ fallen asleep," Elsie replied, looking at her darling boy and running a finger down the bridge of his nose. She remembered that when Becky was a baby her mother would encourage Elsie to brush her finger down between Becky's eyes just so, helping the girl to calm and fall asleep. It worked as well with Jack as it always had with Becky, and moments later Elsie felt his weight growing heavier in her arms.

"Oh, yes, Jackie needs sleep," Brenna nodded seriously. "But he doesn't like it!"

The women all laughed quietly at that.

"Oh, my wee little lass, you are speaking so nicely today!" Elsie praised her.

"She's made wonderful progress this last month," Anna said, reaching out to fix Brenna's flyaway hair, and Brenna asked Elsie when she could see Charles.

"Well, once the team is settled I'm sure he'll come over and see us. And if you're _very_ well behaved, you may sit with me where the team gathers, and we can cheer them on together, alright?"

Brenna nodded. "Yes, Granny, I promise to be good." There was nothing like the promise of time with Granddad to put Brenna in a happy, well-behaved mood … and Elsie figured there would be nothing quite like Brenna to bring out Charles's softer and calmer side as the afternoon wore on.

Just then, the man himself headed over toward his family. Brenna, trying her very best to behave, refrained from running across the lawn toward him. But once he was close enough he just bent down and opened his arms, and she gave in completely. He picked her up and she planted a lemonade-scented kiss on his nose. "Hi Grandda'!" she squealed. "Granny says if I'm _very good_ I can sit with her. I can watch you!"

"She did, did she? Well … I suppose." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "The tent is only for the team, and for _very important people._ "

Brenna looked serious. "Like us?" she whispered, clearly nervous.

Elsie melted at the look on her husband's face, and ignored the mist that appeared in his eyes as he kissed Brenna's forehead.

"Absolutely," he affirmed. " _You_ are the most important ones of all."

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

"Congratulations, Charles!" Elsie exclaimed, reaching out for his hand and squeezing it tightly. "Well done!"

"Thank you, love," he replied, bringing her hand up and kissing her knuckles. There were far too many people around for anything more intimate and, frankly, they were both too filthy and hot from being outside in the sun all day.

Overall, Elsie had found the day more pleasant than she'd expected, but she was more than ready to go home and take a bath. Jack had been relatively calm, despite the heat, and Brenna was already asleep in Anna's arms when the car had been loaded up to take Lady Mary, Anna and the children back to the Abbey.

It had been almost two full years now that she'd been retired, and Elsie was relatively surprised that she didn't miss her job _at all_. She'd been so afraid that she'd be bored, sitting around with the cottage spotless by nine o'clock and nothing to do with her days. But with grandchildren and volunteering in the village she'd managed to stay quite busy, and was thrilled to realize that she felt more _fulfilled_ than she had before. She still had a house to take care of, but it was _their_ house, a _home_ that she and Charles shared. The past two years had been filled with myriad experiences and situations, some good and some challenging, but at the end of the day she and Charles had one another. She'd always been happy living with him at the Abbey, working side-by-side in their unique mix of professional regard and care of one another, but the experience of being his wife still took her breath away at times. It was the thing she'd never realized she was missing, but it was the thing she now knew she could never live without.

"Elsie?" he asked gently. "Penny for them."

She just shook her head. "Perhaps later," she answered with loving smile. "I am not sure I can put it into words at the moment."

"But you're alright, aren't you?"

Elsie smiled brilliantly at him. "I'm more than alright, Charles. Let's go home."

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Elsie tucked her legs in and scooted forward through the suds, making room for Charles to climb into the tub behind her.

"Ahhhh," he sighed. "Oh, that's nice."

Elsie turned her head to smile at him. "I know. Now lean back," she instructed.

He did so, and slid down a bit in the tub before leaning his head back on the towel Elsie had placed on the edge for him. "Come here," he murmured, and she readily complied.

Laying back on his broad chest, Elsie sighed happily. "I was thinking of this," she said softly.

"I'm sorry?"

"When you asked for my thoughts as we were leaving the match," she replied.

"You were thinking of a bath together? My, my, Mrs. Carson … such risqué thoughts for the cricket field," he chuckled.

" _No,_ " she said, swatting at his knee. "I was not thinking of _this,_ exactly," she said, motioning between them at the water. "I was thinking of us."

She shifted so that she could look up at his face and waited until he returned her gaze. "Of our marriage. Of how happy I am. Of how I never knew how much I needed this in my life until I had it. You've made me a new person, Charles, your love has done that for me. It has made me feel beautiful, more ... complete. A better person. I never knew I needed to feel that until I experienced it. I know I've said as much before, but sometimes … sometimes, well, it just hits me anew."

"Elsie," he hummed, the feeling of his voice reverberating through her body. He found himself overwhelmed both by her words and by the surge of love in his own heart. He could feel that love physically and it frightened him sometimes, making him wonder if it would take over his already slightly-weak heart in a way that could be harmful.

 _As if such love could be harmful._ _Well,_ he contemplated, _it would have been if she'd rejected it._

"It feels as though I've lived a lifetime in two years," he mused. He leaned over to kiss the top of her head and to draw his arms around her as she turned her head away from him again and lay back. He laced their fingers together, trying to gather his thoughts and finding it was impossible.

"Do you remember the box?" he finally asked.

He felt Elsie's body tense for a moment, and then relax as it dawned on her. _The smooth feel of the wood, the waviness of the free-form carving across the surface._ "Oh, yes, I remember. Of course I do. What of it?"

"I would think of it frequently, growing up. I never knew what happened to it, never knew during all those years that the Dowager had it, but I could remember every curve, every swipe of my Pa's knife along the grain. I can still see Mama placing the pendant in there after taking it off at night … I can remember the look of her hands so clearly." He paused, searching for the right words.

"I'd long thought that box contained the best of my life. It was something tangible that connected me to my parents, to the love we had in our home when I was a young lad. Whenever I would find myself forgetting who I was, I'd remember it. I'd wonder where it was, but the memories comforted me. I'd remember his watch, and his crafting such a personal a gift for her. I'd remember my pride in being trusted by my Pa to keep it a secret from Mama."

"That's lovely, Charles," Elsie said.

"It was," he continued, and Elsie could hear the overwhelming emotion in his quivering voice. "It was everything to me, you see; it contained everything that had been of importance to me for the majority of my life. Even when I was happily serving the Crawleys, happy to reflect on a past spent here in Downton, I would often remember that box, remember those days spent with my family." She squeezed his fingers as he put words to the rest of his thoughts, not daring to interrupt him again.

"And where do I have that precious box now? It's tucked away in a drawer. It's been relegated to a drawer in a nightstand in our bedroom, Elsie, in _our home_ , where we share our lives. I don't need it anymore, you see. I love it and cherish it, but I don't _need_ the memories now to make me feel whole."

He squeezed her in his arms and leaned his head forward to her ear, whispering the rest. "I have a _new_ 'everything', my love, and the greatest part of that is right here in my arms. _You_ have made me a new man. It was Brenna who made me realize it again today, but I've known it deep down ever since the day at the stables: you, our family, _that's_ what's most important to me now. I have no need to look back anymore."

Elsie moved forward and turned carefully in the water, mindful not to splash it out onto the floor. She knelt and placed her hands on the sides of his face as he held her steady at the waist. She leaned forward to kiss away his tears before realizing she'd shed a few of her own.

"We're a right pair, aren't we? Rather 'sentimental', wouldn't you say?"

Charles chuckled. "The perfect, sentimental pair, Mrs. Carson."

He kissed her firmly on the lips, then motioned for her to turn again as he reached for the cup by the side of the tub. They passed the next ten minutes in silence as he washed and rinsed her hair and then drew the sponge across her back, massaging her shoulders when he was done. When the water turned cool, they rose and helped one another step out, choosing to don sleep attire despite the fact that it was still early.

"Dinner in pajamas, Mr. Carson? Whatever would people think?" Elsie joked.

"They would think I'm a changed man," he replied, kissing her passionately. "And they would be right."

Elsie's heart sang, the familiar fluttering settling low in her abdomen at the feel of his lips on hers. "Yes, I suppose they would," she said breathlessly.

 _ **You and I are going on together**_

 _ **'Til the time we have is gone together**_

 _ **Watch the evening drawing on together**_

 _ **Growing older, growing closer**_

 _ **Making memories that light the sky**_

 _ **That only time can make**_

 _ **That only love can make**_

 _ **That only we can make**_

 _ **You and I**_

 ***a leanaibh - "my little baby" in Gaelic**

* * *

 **I'm not sure how many of you are still with me here, but if you are, please drop me a little review - I love hearing what you all think.**


	11. There Is Love

**I know a few others have used this song recently, but I've always had it planned for this chapter. :) I hope that's okay with everyone. It's on my playlist. Go to Spotify** **and search my username (ChelsieSouloftheAbbey) - the playlist for this fic is "Music of Our Lives."**

 **Thank you all for your reblogs on tumblr and the reviews you've left here. This entire Music "saga" was how I started in fanfic writing. It's bittersweet to think of it as ending soon, but it can't go on forever (for obvious reasons, one being mortality). My deepest thanks to those of you who've stuck with me through the entire thing.**

 **Special shout-out to brenna-louise for her encouragement, comments, and all around support.**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **Well then what's to be reason for becoming man and wife**_

 _ **Is it love that brings you here, or love that gives you life?**_

 _ **For if loving is the answer, then who's the giving for?**_

 _ **Do you believe in something that you've never seen before?**_

 _ **Oh, there's love,**_

 _ **There is love.**_

 _ **~Noel Paul Stookey**_

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

 _ **May, 1928**_

The sound of scratching woke Elsie just as the sun was peeking over the horizon.

 _Oh, those damn birds! WHY must they nest over the bedroom window?!_

And then, suddenly, it hit her: _Wedding!_

"Charles," she said softly, rolling to tuck herself in next to his warm body. "Cha-a-rles. It's today!"

"Mmph," he answered, opening his arms to welcome her into his embrace, but refusing to open his eyes or speak actual _words_ just yet.

Elsie chuckled. They had loads of time before the blessed event, but she feared she'd never get back to sleep. That meant her choices would be sitting downstairs, alone but for the cat, with a book … or staying here, nice and cozy, letting her husband's deep breathing soothe her slightly frayed nerves.

 _Not a difficult choice, really, is it?_

"Elsie," came his murmured voice, "we don't really need to be up at dawn for an afternoon wedding gathering, do we?"

"No," she cooed, placing a kiss to his stubbly chin. "I'm sorry, I'm just so very happy. Go back to sleep."

He tightened his grip on her and followed her instructions immediately; after a few minutes of running through her mental list of everything that needed to be done – and reassuring herself that it _had_ been taken care of - Elsie managed to get another hour's sleep as well.

Just as she drifted off, she had the loveliest thought: _Mrs. Isobel Clarkson … at long last._

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Violet woke just after dawn, as was her custom. She stretched slowly, knowing her hip and back would betray her should she move too quickly. She sat up and reached for the bell, summoning Denker for her morning tea.

 _The wedding is FINALLY here._ Violet was surprised by how much she was looking forward to it, despite the grief she'd given Isobel over the planning. She couldn't help it - she _was_ jealous, but her happiness for both Isobel and Dr. Clarkson overshadowed her jealousy and, in the privacy of her own bedroom, she was free to admit it. She'd already given her gift - _rather unexpected, that one had been … Dr. Clarkson had been rendered speechless_ \- and so now all she needed to do was show up at the church on time. And Violet was _never_ late.

She smiled as she reflected on the conversation she'd had with Isobel last month, teasing her mercilessly as was so often her way …

" _You do realize this is likely the last wedding I'll attend in my lifetime?" Violet had asked. "You can't possibly refuse to have a proper wedding and still expect me to attend!"_

" _I can, and we do," Isobel had answered, patting her cousin's hand gently. "And I shall remind you for the thousandth time, it is not your wedding, nor Mary's, nor anyone else's. I have been married before, I had the big to-do then, and I feel it completely unnecessary to spend the energy or the money on another one."_

 _She had gotten up from her seat and headed to the door, turning halfway to add, "And you will be there, Cousin Violet. I am quite sure you'd not miss it for the world." With a warm smile flung in Violet's direction, Isobel had walked out the door, head held high._

" _Bollocks," she'd heard from the sitting room. Isobel had laughed all the way home ..._

"Your tea, Milady," Denker's voice sounded across the room. "How are you feeling today?"

"I'm feeling perfectly fine, Denker. I've a wedding to attend!"

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

"Knock, knock!" Elsie called, a bit sad that this would be the last time she'd be knocking on Isobel's door – well, _this_ door, anyhow. The door opened swiftly – held by Anna.

"Oh, thank goodness you're here," Anna muttered under her breath, giving Elsie a swift kiss on the cheek. "She is _mad,_ I tell you. _Mad!"_

"Oh, surely not," Elsie whispered. "She's been down the aisle before … we've planned everything to the minutest detail - and there weren't that many things _to_ plan … surely it can't be that bad?"

"Ha!" Anna smirked, eyebrows raised. She motioned with her hand, "Go on, then – see for yourself."

 _Alright …_ Elsie thought fearfully.

As she stepped atop the last stair, she could hear sobbing coming from the direction of Isobel's room.

"Isobel? Whatever is the matter?" Elsie asked softly as she entered the room, closing the door behind her. Her quick eyes took in the scene: dress hanging from the wardrobe, ready to go; crying friend seated at the vanity, still clad in her nightgown; floral bouquet resting on the bed pillow, pristine; tea tray on the side table, evidently untouched. She headed to the tea first, giving Isobel a chance to compose herself if she chose to do so.

"Elsie," Isobel cried, "there is simply no way this wedding can happen! I've no idea what I was _thinking!_ Why on earth did I ever feel that it would be a good idea to accept him?"

Elsie poured the tea, and she added a bit more milk and a bit less sugar than she usually would. _No sense in adding to her jitters._ She approached the vanity and laid the cup and saucer in front of Isobel, then patted her friend's shoulder and pointed at the cup.

"Drink that, and then we'll talk." Elsie caught Isobel's gaze in the mirror, but her raised eyebrow and pursed lips told Isobel there was to be no room for argument. Isobel closed her eyes briefly and nodded, then reached for the cup.

"Alright," she whispered. She took a few shuddering breaths and, when she was fairly certain she'd not choke on the liquid, she took a started sipping.

Elsie busied herself by making her own cup of tea, then she removed the dress from where it hung and spread it out on the bed. She stepped back and allowed a soft smile to reach her lips, remembering back to the day they'd picked the dress out. She reminded herself that the most amazing thing about that day hadn't been that they'd found a dress _(finally, thank God!)_ , but that she, Isobel, and _Lady Mary_ had actually spent quite a lovely time together. It wasn't the first time Elsie and Mary had been thrown together because of Isobel, but the quest for the dress had allowed them to be somewhat of a team, trying to support Isobel in a joint venture.

The dress was simple in a way, yet with subtle, elegant details - much like Isobel herself, the ladies had remarked. It was ivory in color with lace panels covering the top. It had shorter sleeves due to the warmth of the summer season, but came with a light, elegant silk jacket that fastened in the front with a dainty silver clasp. The jacket was ivory-colored in the background, but had a pale, floral print covering it. The flowers in the bouquet - from Lady Violet's garden, naturally - matched the tones in the jacket perfectly, and Anna had crafted an ivory-colored hat to match the dress.

As Elsie returned to the wardrobe to pull out the jacket, she heard Isobel's half-empty teacup rattle against the saucer.

"Alright, then, I suppose I should tell you why I shan't be wearing _that_ today," Isobel said shakily, pointing at the dress that now lay across her bed.

"Yes, I imagine you should. What on earth has happened? Have you had a falling out? Surely not - I can't imagine _that._ "

"No, we haven't. I just … it's too much," Isobel said tearfully. She clasped her hands in her lap, twisting them as she spoke. "I don't know what I was thinking. There's his retirement, of course, and that frightens me. And then the fact that I've not been a wife for a _very_ long time," she added, flushing furiously as she looked determinedly at her hands as opposed to her friend. "When Reginald and I met, well, we were …"

"Young?" Elsie suggested. "Yes, you were. And desperately in love, I'd imagine."

Isobel nodded. "Yes, exactly - _young._ And … passionate," she whispered.

"Oh, Isobel," Elsie sighed, moving a chair next to her friend and sitting. She grasped Isobel's hands and forced them apart, taking each in one of her own and squeezing gently. "Do you think I don't understand? Because we both know _I do._ I was hardly a bride in the early blush of youth! I had all those same fears, except that you're embarking upon this venture knowing full well what a true marriage will involve. I hadn't the vaguest idea, not really. I mean … well, I had _some_ idea … but knew nothing of the difference that _love_ would make."

She stopped speaking abruptly, suddenly afraid. "Wait … do you not _want_ that … _type_ … of marriage? Because I can assure you," she added with a smile, "that Richard looks at you with such an amazing amount of love every time you walk into a room."

"I know he does, but he's not … well, he's not ever _seen_ me. Oh my goodness, I cannot believe I am saying these things out loud, even to you, Elsie." Isobel stood suddenly and walked over to the fireplace, lost in thought for a moment.

Elsie rose from her chair and joined her friend. "Isobel, do you remember when I had my surgery? How you came to the cottage and dragged me into the next room, then forced me to see what you'd been through, how you'd survived?"

Isobel nodded, and even chuckled a bit. "That was rather pushy of me, wasn't it? But you needed to be told … oh, I see."

" _Yes,_ and now _you_ need to be told a few things. This marriage will undoubtedly bring a great deal of joy to your lives. Being married will be familiar in many ways, I'm sure, and it will be brand new in others. But you cannot compare it to your life with Reginald. It's not the same life - you aren't the same _woman._ And, undoubtedly, Richard isn't the same man as he was forty years ago, either. But you make each other happy, I know that for a fact, and you _love_ one another so very much. Don't you want to spend the years you have left _together?"_

"That's what Richard said," Isobel admitted. "And I do, of course … I just … I'm _scared_ , Elsie. It'll be just us, all the time. What if everything we feel comes from the fact that we don't see each other frequently? What if, now that he's just retired, we can't bear to spend every waking moment together? We're both so independent in so many ways."

"And you'll continue to be! You'll be volunteering at the new hospital with me, won't you? And there is that new Ladies' Auxiliary Guild that we've promised to be a part of. Richard and Charles will be involved with the cricket all season -

"God help us both," Isobel interrupted with a smile.

"I know, I know," she said, nodding as Isobel rolled her eyes, "and so you and I will be otherwise occupied for at least half of those games, too, if I have anything to say about it. If you're lucky, you'll see the man four days a week! And I daresay you'll find ways to fill _those_ days all on your own," she added with an impish smile.

Isobel's eyes widened in shock, but then she just threw her hands over her face and laughed. "Oh, Elsie, I've been such a fool! I've been looking forward to spending time _alone_ with that man for years, who am I kidding?"

"You have so much love for each other, and a mutual respect that is evident to anyone who spends any time with you whatsoever."

"We do. And … it works for _you_ , doesn't it?"

"Aye, that it does," Elsie said, nodding. "Charles and I are one another's best friend. I think if you have that, you're quite lucky indeed."

"Mary gave me her blessing," Isobel whispered. "Last night - she came over, she wanted to tell me she was happy for us, happy that George would have another _grandfather_. That meant a great dealto me, Elsie, but it will mean the world to Richard. He's known Mary since she was born."

"Times are changing," Elsie mused, "and the class divide has most certainly been crossed this last decade, the lines blurred."

"They're being pressured to sell, you know, but Mary will have none of it."

"No, nor Lord Grantham, I'm sure. Lady Mary has spoken with Charles about it, I believe."

"Has she? That speaks volumes of the regard in which she still holds him. I know he's often been her biggest - perhaps, at times, her _only_ \- supporter. I gather he still is?"

"To a point, but not to a fault. That's the difference that _I_ bring, I think - I don't let him see her through rose-colored glasses. To be fair, he helps me to see her kinder, thoughtful side. I will say this for her: she's become a _wonderful_ mother."

"She has." Isobel took another deep breath, then turned to look at her dress laying across the bed. She pursed her lips, came to a decision, and nodded once - firmly.

"Alright, Elsie. It looks as though I'm getting married today." She reached out and took her friend's hand then, suddenly remembered something.

"Oh, dear - poor Anna!" she gasped. "She had no idea what she was getting into when she volunteered to come early and help me to get read today. I'll have to make it up to her. I think I truly frightened her."

"Anna's made of stern stuff, you know that. I wouldn't worry about her at all."

"Thank you, my friend, so very much. I don't know what got into me. I know he loves me, and I know he understands what he's getting into - goodness knows he understands the family better than anyone. I was just … nervous, I suppose," Isobel shrugged.

"I know - so was I, and Charles and I had known each other over twenty years. You know that marriage is different, but it's a _wonderful_ kind of different. And when you see him waiting for you at the altar, you'll be just fine. Now, let's get you into this dress because, as it stands now, I'm dressed very much more elegantly than the bride, and that will _not_ do!"

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

The small gathering at the church may have seemed an inadequate one, especially as it was to celebrate the union of the future Earl of Grantham's grandmother and the doctor who'd seen to the medical needs of all of Downton VIllage for decades, but that was just the way they wanted it.

Isobel and Richard said their vows surrounded by only their closest friends and family: Elsie and Charles, who also stood as matron of honor and best man; Lady Violet; Richard's brother, who was visiting from Scotland; Lord and Lady Grantham; Ladies Mary and Edith, along with Master George and Miss Marigold; Anna, John, and Beryl. "It's all we need," Isobel kept saying - and it was.

"... to have and to hold from this day forward …" Isobel's voice, shaky and unsure though it had been that morning, rang true through the church as she said her vows.

Richard's voice matched hers in surety, if not quite in volume. He practically whispered his vows so that only Isobel could hear, but it didn't matter. Elsie could see his clear, blue eyes, full of love as he stared into those of his bride. _He doesn't even need the words at all,_ she thought. _He's telling her everything he needs to with that look._ She stole a glance at Charles when Richard arrived at "...with my body, I thee worship …" but quickly looked away again once he cocked an eyebrow and winked at her.

And finally, after a _very_ long engagement, Dr. and Mrs. Richard Clarkson were pronounced husband and wife. Richard gave his bride a gentle kiss, much too afraid to lose his control in front of the entire Crawley family - who were now, somewhat to his discomfort, _his_ family.

After the ceremony everyone headed to the Abbey for the reception, to which several employees of the hospital, quite a few business owners in the village, as well as the extended family had been invited. It wasn't the first time Elsie and Charles had been invited back to the Abbey for a social event, but it was by far the most comfortable either had been at one. As the punch glasses thinned out, Charles found he didn't feel the need to order someone to refill the station; when Daisy needed a hand in the kitchen, Elsie and Beryl jumped in to help as needed, but only when specifically asked. It wasn't their house anymore, and the three retirees were more than happy to admit it.

"Congratulations, Dr. Clarkson," Robert's voice boomed.

"We are so very happy for you both - at last!" Cora echoed."Where has Isobel disappeared to?"

"I believe she's tucking George into bed," he replied. Everyone noticed the "Master" title had been dropped; no one cared.

"Wonderful. And she still has no idea where you're bringing her? I can't believe you've kept it a secret from us all!"

"She has not a clue," he replied softly. "The Carsons know, but I know they've said nothing. I wish to thank you both, again, for hosting our wedding breakfast here. We truly appreciate it."

"It's our pleasure," replied Cora. "You've been like part of the family for such a long time, and now you really _are_ family. You brought our girls into the world, and … well, you've seen us through a lot," she finished meekly, not wishing to lose control of her emotions.

"What will you do in retirement?" Robert asked.

"Well, I've been _told_ that my wife plans to be quite busy, and so I do believe I'll be finding some local organizations to become involved with. I don't think I could abide sitting at home alone all day."

"I may have a solution for you," Robert said cryptically - and quietly, so as not to be overheard. "Something Mary and I are discussing, some … well, some potential ideas for the future of Downton. I think you'd be a welcome addition to our plan, if we can pull it off. Enjoy your honeymoon, but do come and see me when you return and I'll pitch it to you."

"It sounds intriguing. I'll admit, I'm anxious to hear it. If you think I can be useful, that is."

"With your knowledge of history, I think you'd be perfect for it, but I admit that bringing you in was _Mary's_ idea." Robert smiled at his former doctor, hopefully his soon-to-be friend, and his new cousin by marriage.

 _Times are changing, indeed,_ Robert thought, _and I am finally beginning to like the idea._

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

"Alright, Isobel - your bag is in the car, and I've packed everything you'll need. Don't worry about a thing; we'll have lunch when you get back and you can tell me all about it." Elsie paused, then amended, "Well, maybe not _all."_

"Elsie!" Isobel laughed. "As if I have to tell _you_ anything about that," she muttered. "Charles still can't stay more than half a room away from you."

"True," Elsie acknowledged. "Now be off with you!" She shooed her friend toward the steps of the great hall and watched as Isobel descended them, landing in the waiting arms of her new husband.

"Are we ready?" Richard asked, placing a kiss to Isobel's forehead. Elsie wasn't sure which was brighter: the loving look in his eyes, or the brilliant smile on Isobel's face that she saw as she arrived at the bottom of the stairs.

"I have been told that I am, although I can't be _sure_ unless you plan to tell me -"

"Not a chance," he cut her off. "I can only promise that it's not France."

"Good, because I've spent enough time there to last the rest of my life," Isobel answered, thinking back to the war.

As they got into the car, the family gathered outside to wave them off. The wheels crunched the gravel as the car pulled away and everyone made small talk, none really wanting the party to end.

"Will someone please tell us where they're going?" Mary demanded. "It's rather ridiculous that none of _us_ know." She looked at the Carsons then, and apologized. "I didn't mean it like _that,_ of course."

"Scotland," Violet said suddenly. "They're going to Scotland, for ten days."

"Granny! How did _you_ know?"

Violet huffed out a laugh. "My dear, whose idea do you think it was?"

Mary turned to look at Charles, who only shrugged. "We were sworn to secrecy, Milady. What can I say?"

"And I suppose your expertise was needed for the packing?" Mary asked Elsie.

"Yes, and as Cousin Isobel's _friend_ , she was instrumental in helping Richard to plan," Violet said, both defending and praising Elsie in one sentence. Charles wasn't sure who was more surprised by that - Elsie, or the Dowager herself.

"Well, now you all know," Elsie said simply, taking Charles's hand, "and we should be heading home. It's been a rather long day."

"Please, Mrs. Carson, let us have a car bring you home," Cora offered.

"No, thank you, Milady, we'll be just fine," Charles said. "But the offer is much appreciated." Elsie nodded her agreement, and Cora smiled.

"Well, it was a pleasure to see you both. I do hope we can visit again soon."

"That would be lovely, Milady, thank you." Elsie squeezed Charles's hand, pulling it gently - no one else would have noticed it, but it was their silent signal that one of them was tired and ready to head home when they'd been out.

Goodbyes were said, and Charles and Elsie headed down the path. As soon as they were out of eyesight of the Abbey, Charles tugged her arm until they meandered over to the shade of a tall tree.

"How are you?" he asked his wife, reaching down for a kiss.

"I'm exhausted, to be honest - I wasn't lying back there. But I'm _happy,_ Charles - so very happy for them. That marriage has been brewing for a very, very long time."

"Was Isobel alright earlier?"

"No, but she got there in the end. She was nervous, and who could blame her? I was nervous when we were married, and I had nothing to compare it to. And it must be hard to be the spouse that takes the place of one who has died, particularly when that marriage had been strong. Isobel and Richard will have to navigate that now, but I think they'll do just fine."

"Agreed. Let's get you home … I see a lakeside sunset in our future, with two glasses of wine and one soft, black cat pawing at your legs."

"That," _kiss,_ "sounds," _kiss,_ "perfect," Elsie replied, smiling brilliantly at her husband. "And perhaps, if you're _very_ good, a nice, leisurely morning lounging around … in bed." She winked, then grabbed his hand once again and pulled him back out onto the trail.

"It's not even _my_ honeymoon!" he answered cheekily.

Elsie's laugh could be heard all the way back at the Abbey, Charles was certain - and he didn't care one jot; it was his favorite sound on earth.


	12. Just Violet

**A/N: This chapter refers heavily to events from "Music of the Heart," my first-ever fanfic story which is the precursor to "Music of Our Lives." So if you're coming here as a new reader, I wish you a hearty WELCOME, but I encourage you to read that fic first, if you so choose, and then the previous chapters of this one. You don't** _ **have**_ **to understand the past that Violet and Charles share, but I think that if you do this chapter makes more sense.**

 **Shout out to tumblr's silhouettedswallow, whose valuable input on characters seriously changed how this chapter looks (as in, characters were replaced with other characters, and you all benefit from that).**

 _ **Musical accompaniment: "Violet," from the Downton Abbey soundtrack album … of course. I've put it on the Spotify – my Username is ChelsieSouloftheAbbey and the playlist is "Music of Our Lives."**_

 **T/W: Major character death. I don't often cry when I write things, but I did when I wrote parts of this.**

* * *

 _ **I answer the heroic question, "Death, where is they sting?"**_

 _ **with**_

 _ **"It is here: in my heart, and mind, and memories."**_

 _ **~Maya Angelou**_

* * *

 _ **October, 1931**_

"Elsie?" Charles called. He closed the door behind himself and hung his coat on the rack. "Elsie?"

 _No answer. That's odd._

He went into the kitchen - no Elsie. Furrowing his brow, he made his way up the stairs, finally locating her in their bedroom. She was fast asleep in the middle of the bed.

Charles chuckled and moved quietly over to the bed. He sat at the edge and ran his hand gently up and down his wife's arm. "Elsie," he called softly, "wake up, darling."

He was so thankful for her soft breaths, the ones that let him know she was actually fine, albeit deeply asleep. She rarely took naps in the late morning, and he moved his hand to her forehead and the side of her face, wondering if she were febrile. But, no, her skin felt normal to him. He was loathe to admit it, but they _were_ getting on. He'd be seventy next year - he could hardly believe it - and both he and Elsie often felt their age beginning to catch up with them at times. Charles was grateful that his wife had come up to bed for a rest instead of pushing on and just making herself sick.

Just then, Elsie stirred, turning her head sideways and kissing his palm in her sleep. "Mm," she murmured, her voice almost a ghost of its normal self.

"Elsie, wake up. It's almost lunchtime."

Her eyes finally opened. "Charles?" she asked, confused. "Oh. I thought you and Richard were meeting with Lord Grantham?"

"We did," he assured her, "and I've only just returned. It's not like you to go back to bed this late in the day. Are you feeling alright, love?"

Elsie sat up in the bed and rubbed her hands over her face. "I think so, I was just so very exhausted after you left. I dozed off for a bit in the chair while reading my book, and thought I'd do better to just come to bed before I got a crick in my neck. How did the meeting go?"

"Very well," he answered. "Richard seems comfortable with the proposals that his Lordship put forth. As we assumed, he will be overseeing the war artifacts at the Downton Museum once it opens. One day per week will be spent training and overseeing staff, but the rest of the time will be Richard's to shape the museum as he chooses. He will have free rein to arrange for special lecturers, or even give presentations himself if he'd like. He's already been asked by another gentleman, whose name I cannot recall at the moment, to give a lesson on the medicine and treatment methods that were available on the front, and what improvements have been made in that area since."

Elsie swung her legs over the side of the bed and scooted over to her husband, who put his arm around her waist and squeezed her gently as she laid her head on his shoulder. "Well, that's something that could certainly be useful," she said approvingly. "Though heaven forbid we ever need that information."

"Hmm, you're right. 'The war to end all wars,' but how history has so very often told us that will not be the case. These uprisings in Germany are frightening, groups like the one responsible for poor Mr. Gregson's death." He shook his head, disheartened by the gravity of the conversation as well as by the truth he saw in it.

Elsie's stomach growled then, drawing Charles's attention back to her.

"Did you say it was almost lunchtime?" she asked with a small laugh.

"I did. Shall we eat by the lake, or would you prefer the patio?"

"Oh, I think the patio today. I'm not sure I'm up for the walk, to tell the truth."

"Fine by me," he answered, dropping a kiss on her head.

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

Just as Charles was scrubbing the last of the luncheon dishes, the phone rang. Elsie put down the drying towel and answered it. "Carson residence," she said, smiling.

"I need to speak with Carson," Lord Grantham's voice said in the receiver. "It's urgent."

"Charles?" she called. "It's Lord Grantham."

Her husband moved quickly to the telephone, taking it from Elsie's hands. "Milord?"

"Carson, you'd better come quickly. It's Mama - she's asking for you."

Elsie watched as the blood drained from her husband's face, and she reached out to for him when she saw him stagger a bit.

"Charles?" she asked softly. His hand started shaking, and he almost dropped the phone. She took it quickly from his grasp and spoke to Lord Grantham, garnering all the information she needed in a few short words.

"We'll be there within the half hour," she said, then promptly hung up the phone.

"I'll get your coat," Elsie told Charles, and she led him to a chair and forced him to sit. When she returned, he'd not moved. She grabbed a glass, poured two fingers of whisky in it, and handed it to him.

"Drink that," she ordered, and he knew there was no room for argument. He downed it and cringed at the burning, but it seemed to bring him back to his senses.

"Elsie …" he whispered, his eyes filling with both tears and fear.

"Don't," she warned. "Not now. Let's go, and we'll see what the day brings, alright, love?"

"Alright."

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

It was Edith, not Denker, who greeted them at the door of the Dower House, and Charles was immediately whisked away by Richard to Lady Violet's bedroom. He started to sputter about the impropriety, but Richard silenced him with half a dozen simple words: "She's dying, my friend. Just come."

"Mrs. Carson, please, come and sit with me," Edith said softly, taking Elsie's elbow and leading her to the settee.

As soon as Charles turned the corner, however, Elsie's own tears spilled forth at last. Spratt appeared wordlessly out of nowhere with a tea tray, which he left on the side table just before disappearing once again. The entire house was silent save for the soft, barely audible sounds of Elsie's crying.

When she'd gathered her wits somewhat, Elsie acknowledged Edith's presence.

"I'm so sorry, Mi- _Edith,"_ she said, remembering the young woman's choice to relinquish the title. "It's just that he's going to be so lost without her. I don't mean to say that the rest of you are _not,_ of course …"

"No, it's quite alright," Edith replied with a watery smile. "And I'm sure you've been rallying _your_ strength to be strong for your husband - it's alright to need a bit of bolstering yourself, you know, along with some time to fall apart a bit."

Elsie nodded thankfully, reaching out to pat Edith's hand. "I appreciate that."

"We've all known she was ill for a while," Edith continued, "and Mary, Tom, and I have made our peace with it. But I understand that Mr. Carson hasn't seen her for some weeks?"

Elsie acknowledged somewhere in her mind that Edith always insisted on referring to Charles as 'Mr. Carson' and not simply 'Carson.' _It's strange that it would be Edith, and not Lady Mary, who would do that,_ Elsie thought. _It's as if she recognizes that he's a man in his own right, and not just the butler. Although, perhaps it's not_ _ **that**_ _strange for Edith to think that ... Only ..._

She shook her head, trying to make her mind function properly enough to answer the question she'd been asked. _Get it together, Els!_

"No, he hasn't. We were away for a bit, and we've been so busy with the grandchildren since we got back. Lady Mary did send a letter a while back, and so we knew your grandmother was ill, but not the extent of it ... not until last week. Even then, Richard and Isobel seemed to still have hope."

"Granny tells me that Mr. Carson practically grew up at Downton," Edith began carefully. "She mentioned to me that they were very close during his childhood. I don't think my sisters and I ever knew how long he'd lived here. _I'd_ always assumed he'd come in as a footman, I suppose."

"Yes," Elsie nodded. "I'm not sure how much Lady Violet told you, and it's not my place to elaborate on much of it. But, suffice to say, she has been somewhat of a mother to him in many ways. In the ways that matter, she's always watched out for him. Charles's parents died when he was just a boy, you see …" Her voice trailed off because she didn't wish to share anything more; even if Lady Violet _had_ spoken to Edith, Elsie had no way of knowing how much of the story she'd divulged. Elsie knew that she and Charles were privy to some of Lady Violet's deepest secrets - one in particular, of course - but, as far as Elsie was concerned, they were secrets that they'd both be taking to their own graves.

Edith twisted her hands in her lap, unsure of whether or not to speak her thoughts aloud, but she forged ahead anyhow.

"Aunt Rosamund told me the other day that she imagines Mr. Carson is closer to Granny than even she and Papa are."

Elsie wiped her eyes with her handkerchief, then nodded. "I suppose that could be true, yes. But Lord Grantham and Lady Rosamund were raised in a time when one kept some sort of emotional distance from one's family members, of course."

"Yes, she said as much," Edith replied. "I gathered there was more to the story that even she did not know ... I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry. It's just that I get the feeling that Mr. Carson has always been _more_ a part of our family than we'd been led to believe ... certainly more than just an _employee._ I suppose I wish I'd always _known_ that."

Elsie contemplated the younger woman sitting before her, then nodded slowly. "Yes, I suppose one could say that," she said cautiously. "I will say this, Edith: you are more like your grandmother than even you realize."

Edith laughed, a short, shocking sound in the otherwise silent house. "Funny, Aunt Rosamund said the same ... right around the time that Marigold was born, actually."

Edith reached forward to pour Elsie a cup of tea.

"Here," she said kindly. She handed the cup to Elsie, who took it gratefully, silently appreciative of the warmth it offered. Neither woman dwelled on the fact that the Lady was serving the housekeeper; in their own ways, they'd both moved past that divide over the past few years, and the role reversal simply didn't bother them now. Elsie needed a bit of caring, and Edith was happy to give it to her.

They sat silently for quite a while, rising only to acknowledge Lord and Lady Grantham's arrival and, eventually, departure. Lady Rosamund also came by, as did Lady Mary. No one could bear to stay, and Elsie didn't blame them. Lord Grantham did stop to chat for a few moments on the way out, and voiced his thanks to Elsie that she and Charles were able to see his mother through until the end. He clasped Elsie's hand as he spoke to her, and his red-rimmed eyes expressed all the words that he could _not_ say. Elsie valued the fact that he didn't appear jealous but, rather, he seemed _grateful_ that it was Charles whom Lady Violet wanted to be with her at the end. She returned the gentle squeeze of his hand and nodded her understanding.

Edith chose not to go up and see Violet again, saying she'd had her time to say goodbye over these last few days that she'd spent at the Dower House. She had been right there alongside the Clarksons, doing what was needed and, Elsie knew, likely holding the whole mess together from behind the scenes. As the clocked softly ticked on, Elsie and Edith stayed in the sitting room, making small talk that neither of them would remember afterwards.

And then suddenly, at approximately half nine, Elsie felt a shock of sorts. She wouldn't be able to describe it very well later on, when Charles would ask, but she'd realized that her entire body had taken on a coldness that she knew instinctively had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Elsie looked up at Edith and a feeling of dread settled in her heart. It was the same feeling she'd had when Becky had died, and she knew right away what it meant.

"She's gone," Elsie said simply.

She moved closer to Edith on the settee, and held the younger woman in her arms as Edith finally allowed herself to break down, crying tears which soaked through the fabric of Elsie's favorite dress.

A few moments later, Richard appeared, astonished that they already seemed to know the sad news he'd come down to share.

"You already knew," he said wondrously to Elsie. "I'd ask how, but …"

"But it doesn't matter," she finished for him. Richard indicated the way to Lady Violet's room with a motion of his hand, and Elsie scurried off, leaving Richard to comfort Edith in her absence.

When Elsie entered the Dowager's bedroom, she was amazed at how peaceful and warm it was. She wasn't sure what she'd find, but she'd certainly expected a feeling of deep of sadness; she'd expected to see people in there crying, perhaps Denker or even Spratt; she'd expected it to be cold.

The only bit that _was_ exactly as she'd imagined was the image of her husband, sitting beside the bed and holding Lady Violet's hand in both of his, with not a trace of tears on his strong, handsome face.

She smiled gently, appreciating how her gentle, loving husband had maintained this calm and assured demeanor for Lady Violet's sake. _Perhaps that was the one advantage he'd had over Lord Grantham and all the Ladies_ , she reasoned. She could easily imagine that the Dowager wished to leave this world in the presence of strength and propriety, and not amidst a mass of weeping family who had lost all semblance of control. _Yes,_ she thought, _that may well have been a part of it, indeed._

Silently, Elsie approached Charles, stood behind him, and laid her hands on his shoulders. She squeezed gently, and he turned his head up to face her.

"Peaceful," he said, reading her mind as he so often did. "It was peaceful, and she was lucid right up until her very last breath."

"I'm glad, love," Elsie answered, bending down to place a tender kiss to his forehead. "Were you able to say all you needed to?"

"I was," he smiled sadly, "and so, I believe, was Violet."

Elsie noted the dropped title, but said nothing, merely added it to the list of what she'd not expected.

 _We're all the same in the end,_ she reminded herself.

"Well, then, that's what really matters," she said aloud.

Charles hummed a reply and nodded slowly, then turned toward Violet and placed the hand he'd been holding atop her other one, so that they both lay gently over her abdomen as though she were merely asleep.

Elsie held her hand out to Charles and helped him up. He stood, then turned and pulled her into his arms and clutched her tightly; it was the only sign that he was beginning to lose control, and Elsie squeezed him back. She willed some of her strength to flow into him, into this wonderful husband of hers who had so willingly lent her his own strength over the years. This ebb and flow of strength and love between them was the very foundation of their marriage; it was the root of what kept them inexorably connected with a deep intimacy that knew few married couples were lucky enough to share.

Thus fortified, they made their way back downstairs, hand in hand, where Charles picked up the phone and placed the hardest call he'd ever made.

"Milord?" he said clearly in his strong, deep voice. "She's gone."

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOo**

The funeral was held three days later. It was a dark, dreary day, but by some miracle the rain had held off. The dark sky was almost foreboding, as though its very appearance mimicked the sadness felt by all of the attendees.

Reverend Travis had returned for the funeral service, his long-time relationship with the Crawley family evident in the difficulty he had in uttering the traditional words. His wavering voice spoke more to the depth of his feeling and less to his age, a fact that everyone in attendance appreciated and something with which they all sympathized.

Elsie sat silently by Charles's right side, in the pew reserved for the family, with Lady Rosamund, Lady Grantham, and Lord Grantham all to her right. She held her husband's hand, and squeezed it when she felt it quiver in her own.

Charles had been asked by the family to speak, but he'd declined; in his place, it was Tom Branson who had taken the podium. Elsie heard a titter from the back of the church at people's surprise that none of the more immediate family were speaking instead, but she just shook her head and ignored it. What most of them failed to understand was that Violet had influenced a great many lives over the years, beyond those of her children and grandchildren.

Tom's words rang out clear and true through the church, and after the first few sentences even the mumbling wonderers knew why he'd been chosen to speak. He spoke of the first meeting between himself and the Dowager Countess, in the days when he was what he termed 'an upstart, young chauffeur looking to make a new life for himself.' He spoke of having fallen in love with Lady Sybil, and how his late wife's spirit and spunk were clearly traits which she shared with her beloved grandmother, and how they were characteristics that both Sybil and Violet had passed on to his daughter as well. He told of how he'd come to realize over the years that Sybil and Violet had many similarities, not the least of which was a soft, kind heart underneath their passionate exteriors. He spoke of how Violet had paid for them to return to England for the birth of Sybbie, an act which was directly responsible for Tom being allowed to fully become a part of the Crawley family. He also spoke of sadder days, times when he'd almost lost his way following Sybil's death, and of how Violet had quietly and gently helped to bring him back to the land of the living, how she'd sought him out at gatherings and events and made a point of speaking with him, and how she gently and, sometimes, harshly, helped him learn how to navigate his life surrounded by the wonderful family he was now proud to call his own.

In the end, it was Tom's words that caused Charles to finally allow himself to weep, for the woman that Tom was so eloquently and beautifully describing was the Violet that _Charles_ knew. It was the woman who showed the stern, tough exterior to the village but who had, behind the scenes, orchestrated for wonderful things to come to people's lives. Elsie handed him a handkerchief and caught her husband's eye, and she bit her lip and nodded at him, acknowledging with just that simple gesture that she, too, saw the connection that Tom's words were forging between himself and Charles … whether Tom had realized it yet or not. That, Elsie knew, would be a conversation for another day.

 _Perhaps … but perhaps some things are better felt, yet left unsaid._

 **oOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**

The sound of the dirt falling on the hard casket was like a slap to Charles's mind. He remembered tossing it, but realized then that he'd spent the entire time since they'd walked back down the aisle in a strange, silent fog, going through the motions but registering nothing. He'd not heard anyone's steps as they'd made their way to the graveside, nor the words that the new vicar and Reverend Travis had spoken, nor the landing of the ceremonial first handfuls of dirt that Lord Grantham and Lady Rosamund had thrown in before him. But when his own contribution cascaded down he was present once again, Elsie's warm hand resting on the small of his back, her soft touch tethering him to the here and now. He closed his eyes and silently prayed one last time for the formidable Violet Crawley.

"Charles? It's time to go, love."

He nodded and smiled at Elsie, offering his arm. She took it gratefully, and they made their way to the back of the crowd to stand and talk with other members of the family - the family to which Charles had finally, after all these years, accepted that he belonged. The social lines between the Crawleys and the Carsons had disappeared at last with Violet's passing, and he found himself comforted by the family's presence and love.

As more and more people joined them, the tone of the group changed somewhat, moving from sadness and despair to a bit of calm. After a while, people began reminiscing, sharing stories of the woman that had been the Dowager Countess of Grantham. Denker's laughter could be heard at one point, along with surprised exclamations from Lady Edith and from Master George. It got to a point where everyone was talking at once in small groups of two or three, and that was why, at first, only Elsie noticed when Lady Mary slipped away from the group. Elsie was about to turn and ask Charles to go and speak with the younger woman, but then she saw where she was headed, and knew she'd been mistaken in thinking that it was Lady Mary's sadness that caused her to leave the rest of the funeral's attendees. She watched as Mary approached a lone figure who stood in the rear of the cemetery, and she immediately understood.

Elsie smiled sadly as Lady Mary offered her hand to the old man, holding it as she spoke to him while he wiped away his tears. Elsie saw his lips move in reply and, as she imagined the soft, foreign-sounding words falling from his lips, her heart filled with a combination of love and sadness as she reflected once again on the passionate woman who'd lived beneath the stern mask of the Dowager.

The wind picked up suddenly and blew through the man's long, grey locks, and Charles finally turned to see what had so thoroughly captured his wife's attention.

"I always wondered," he murmured in her ear.

"If the rumors were true, you mean?" she whispered back to him.

"No," he answered, then smiled. "I _knew_ that they were. But I always wondered if he had truly loved her as deeply as she had always loved him."

Charles bent to look into his wife's eyes, further words unecessary. Both Charles and Elsie understood the depth and value of the love that the pair had shared. Violet's funeral, and the tender acknowledgement that Lady Mary chose to offer to the one person who would never be allowed to publicly mourn her grandmother, reminded the Carsons once again that they'd been blessed beyond measure. They were eternally grateful that, despite the challenges that life had brought and would continue to bring, they'd have the opportunity to see their love through until the very end of their days on this Earth.

 _And, perhaps,_ Elsie thought, _even after that._

* * *

 **A/N: Boy, that reads like "the end," but it is not. I have a happier chapter to bring to you soon, but the two that follow (which will be the final chapters) will need to wait until AFTER the CS airs, I'm afraid. Please do leave me a little review and tell me what you thought of this - I do hope that in the wake of "After the Fall," this fic hasn't been completely forgotten about.  
**

 **I do apologize for the sadness, but the goal of this particular story has always been to tell about Elsie and Charles Carson and their lives AFTER marriage, and I do plan to carry that through until the very, very end. xxx  
**


	13. Here Is the House

**A/N: This chapter has been written for AGES! It was a song request from brenna-louise, which I was only too happy to incorporate for her here. My thanks go out to chelsie fan (chelsiefan71) for her help in beta-reading this. :)**

 **The song choice is "Here is the House," by Depeche Mode. It's on the Spotify playlist.  
**

 **NEW FOLLOWERS: Might want to go back to "Music of the Heart" and start at Ch 1, then pick this story up for the beginning, as it is all chronological. This chapter (and all other chapters of this fic) refer back to that original story many times.**

 **I hope you enjoy!**

 **N.B.: I had hoped to wrap this story up by the end of 2015 but that obviously didn't happen as AtF has taken over my life. The end is framed out and rather emotional, and I wanted to spare you all of that until well AFTER the CS. I hope that's okay, and so forewarned is forearmed, yes? :) But this chapter is pretty tame.  
**

 **A Happy 2016 to all!**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 ** _April, 1931_**

 _ **Here is the house**_

 _ **Where it all happens**_

 _ **Those tender moments**_

 _ **Under this roof**_

 _ **Body and soul come together**_

 _ **As we come closer together**_

 _ **And as it happens**_

 _ **It happens here**_

 _ **In this house ...  
**_

Elsie and Charles were the final people to walk through the Abbey that day, Lord and Lady Grantham having left earlier that afternoon with the last of the moving vehicles. Grantham House would now be the family's permanent residence, with the Abbey being redesigned as a museum of sorts. The Crawleys had refused all advice to sell it, instead coming to an agreement with the Downton Historical Society to keep it open as a combination museum - open to the public - and a place for historical archives for all of Yorkshire. The initial decision had been made two years ago, under the advisement of Lady Mary and Lord Grantham, giving the staff that had remained time to find other employment. The Molesleys would be going to Grantham House, and they'd hired a new cook only last week. Lady Grantham had seemed rather happy when they'd all chatted earlier: 'Our second married housekeeper and butler this decade - we're becoming trendsetters, Mrs. Carson!'

The Carsons walked slowly, hand in hand, through the door to the library. The room felt infinitely larger without the furniture; all that remained now were the chandeliers wrapped gently in cloth and the massive carpets on the floor. The walls were bare, with pale shapes visible where priceless art had always hung. The furniture, portraits, vases of flowers, and other trivial decor were gone; their presence had always been taken for granted, but their absence was painfully noted.

"It's so quiet," Elsie said in a hushed voice, as though the house itself were aware of its emptiness and couldn't bear the loudness of speech.

"I know," her husband replied, his deep baritone echoing off the walls despite his attempt to keep it softer.

Elsie smirked at the sound and teased, "Well, it _was."_

"Nothing to absorb the sound anymore," Charles shrugged. He let his eyes wander around the room. "The house is like a shell of its former self. It seems strange to say it, but it's as though the place has been ... _wounded_." He paused, considering a crack that ran up one of the walls, something he'd never noticed because of the enormous portrait that had always hung there. "It's just … I don't know, exactly … It's not the _same,_ that's for sure."

"Oh? I think it is. In the ways that matter, it's still the same place we loved, Charles."

"Perhaps," he said hesitantly, not wanting to argue but feeling _something_ he couldn't put into words at the moment.

"Look," she said, pulling him to the window. "Look out there, at the gardens. Do you remember telling me the story of your talks with the Dowager all those years ago? In those gardens? Are _they_ not the same?"

He nodded, smiling slightly at the fond memory from his childhood. "They are," he acquiesced. "But she's gone now, isn't she? And, now that the rest of them have left, her _presence_ isn't really going to be felt here anymore."

"Isn't it?" she challenged, a scoff behind the words. "Oh, I think it is."

Relinquishing his hand, Elsie made her way over to where the table had previously stood in front of the window. "I feel I'll always be able to stand just here and close my eyes, and I'll instantly be back in time, standing with the Dowager herself and listening to her chastising remarks about how the flowers in the vase that would sit here had been poorly arranged by someone - someone who had likely been _me_."

Charles hummed noncommittally, moving across the room until he stood in front of the bookshelves. He reached his hand out and ran it lightly across the wood, smiling to himself about how not a speck of dust gathered on his fingertips. _Standards upheld to the end,_ he thought.

"The ledger rested just here," he murmured, touching a spot on the shelf. He turned to look at Elsie and saw the loving gaze in her eyes.

"Yes," she replied, smiling fondly. "You know, I think I started to fall in love with you because of that ledger."

"Did you? And here I thought that was down to my reading Christmas tales to young Ladies in the nursery," he challenged lightly.

"Well, not _only_ because of the ledger, perhaps," she amended, "but it played a part. It was _you_ who'd spoken to his Lordship about allowing me to borrow books from his personal library, _you_ who'd been the one to notice that I just kept reading the four I owned repeatedly. I imagine you must have been tired of seeing them in my hands."

"Never," he answered, eyebrows raised.

He allowed his mind to wander for a moment, remembering those days when the beautiful head housemaid would tuck herself in the corner of the servants' hall, some dark novel grasped in her lovely, soft-looking hands. He had always marveled at how Elsie had been able to block out all the nonsense noise coming from the others, rising only at the sound of a bell being rung, or at the sound of his own booming voice commanding the staff's attention.

"I grew used to seeing you in that corner, I think. And I could tell from your choice of reading _material_ that you would be a force to be reckoned with. None of the other servants - male _or_ female - would have dared to read Shelley or, heaven forbid, Stoker. I considered it my duty to lead you to _other_ types of literature," he said with a smirk. "Getting to know you in the process was an added blessing."

"I never thanked you for that, I don't think."

He cocked his head, questioning.

"For the surprise," she explained, "for asking his Lordship to offer use of his collection to me … for sharing that personal aspect of yourself with me."

She thought back to that night, the first time that Charles had brought her up to the library and had shown her the register; she remembered how she'd seen his powerful script recorded on the pages, how she'd been shocked at the _variety_ of literature and nonfiction that he'd read over the years. She recalled how she would often choose books that _he'd_ read several times, in order to have something to discuss with him as she was getting to know the man.

"I remember many spirited conversations over the years, all stemming from that original kindness. Everyone else in the house saw me as a bossy young maid from Scotland, but you took a risk, Charles. _You_ dared to see me as _more."_

Charles closed the distance between them placed his hands on her waist, dropping a gentle kiss to her lips before replying. " _I_ remember that all I saw was an intelligent, vibrant, _beautiful_ young woman from Scotland, and I thought of how that was a pity, because you'd never think of me as anything but the stodgy, buttoned-up butler."

"Well, I guess we've proven _that_ wrong," she answered, smiling brilliantly and blushing a bit as she fiddled with the front of his shirt, thinking back to exactly how they'd spent their morning at the cottage before heading to the Abbey. She slipped her finger through the space between the buttons and lightly scratched his chest. "Buttoned up no more, I'd say," she added with a chuckle.

"Indeed."

They made their way out of the library, walking silently through the great hall until they came to the door that led to the servants' stairs.

"Shall we?" Elsie asked.

"Oh, of course," came his answer, and he held the door open for her.

As she rounded the bottom of the steps, Elsie reached out for the light switch.

"I've never seen it so empty … so dark," she said. "So … _quiet._ Well, rarely, anyhow. And never unless there had been a death, or illness, or some other horrible tragedy."

"I know," Charles rumbled. "No cooks shouting for cupboard keys, no police officers flitting about as though they owned the place, not one scheming maid nor under-butler to be seen," he smirked.

"No … but William's piano is gone - I know, I know," she chided, seeing the look in his eyes, "but I always _thought_ of it as his. And the table. Oh, the _table,_ Charles …" Elsie stood staring into the servants' hall, tears coming to her eyes as she shook her head slowly. "All the _life_ in this house. The raising of _children,_ for heaven's sake, like Daisy - just a slip of a thing when she started. And how many cups of tea did I prepare for you at that table, do you suppose?"

"I couldn't possibly imagine, love." He reached out and rubbed his hand gently up and down her back, allowing her the time she needed to say goodbye, and smiling at how she was so moved by the emptiness downstairs, a perfect foil to the loss he'd been feeling as they meandered through the rest of the house. They knew they could revisit the building itself at any time, but it never _would_ be the same once it was a museum and not a home.

Elsie took a deep breath and made her way down the corridor. Charles expected her to head into her former sitting room, but she surprised him by turning into the butler's pantry instead. He followed closely behind.

" _I_ fell in love with _you_ in _this_ room," he uttered from the doorway.

She turned swiftly to stare at him. "Truly?"

"You didn't know?"

"Charles," she scolded gently, "how could I possibly? You've always maintained that you couldn't _identify_ the day."

"Well, it was a gradual thing, that is true," he amended. "But it was in this room when I finally realized I felt _differently_ for you than I'd allowed myself to believe, more than just as a friend should feel about someone. Do you remember when you forced me up to bed, to rest, when I'd nearly worked myself into a heart attack during the war? When you grabbed my arm and refused to let go, literally tugging me out of my chair?"

"Ahh, yes," she nodded. "I do. You were such a stubborn old goat, refusing help or rest." She considered him for a moment. "I'd thought it was later than that, though - for you, I mean."

"Yes, well. War has a way of making you reconsider your life, of looking at things in a different light. And then, when Lady Sybil died … well, on _that_ night I knew for sure."

Elsie made her way over to him and grasped his arm, wrapped their hands together much as they had been on that night. "I know," she said quietly. "It was such a horrid night, and I have no shame in admitting that I took a good amount of comfort from your touch, from the closeness I was allowed to share with you then." She kissed his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder, each of them lost in their thoughts once again.

 _ **And I feel your warmth**_

 _ **And it feels like home**_

 _ **And there's someone**_

 _ **Calling on the telephone …**_

 _ **And I have so much**_

 _ **To confide to you**_

 _ **With or without words**_

 _ **I'll confide everything ...  
**_

They eventually made their way to the housekeeper's sitting room. Elsie expected it to look the same, but she was struck by how very different it was, devoid of furniture. In the butler's pantry, the silver cabinet still gave a sense of familiarity to the room; here, despite the decades she'd spent within these very walls, it just seemed so … _empty._

 _That's it,_ she realized. _It's empty. This room was_ _ **never**_ _empty for long!_

And it hadn't been, not really. _She_ had frequently been in it, of course, sitting at the desk and writing rotas and tallying the endless invoices and inventories. But the door was _forever_ being opened - by maids that needed something, by Mrs. Patmore with questions about dinner, by Charles with wine, tea, or sherry, occasionally by her Ladyship or one of the young Ladies - particularly Lady Sybil, in the early days.

She reflected fondly on those days as she slowly walked around the empty space, stopping briefly where the side table and chairs had always been. She reached her hand out slightly, as though she could run it across the top of the table that was no longer there; she'd been completely unaware she was doing so and gasped when she felt her husband's presence directly behind her as he took her hand in his once again.

"How many times did we sit here, dancing on the precipice of _this,"_ he asked, squeezing her hand and massaging her wedding band with his thumb and forefinger, "only to be interrupted?"

"I was just wondering that very thing." Her smile turned downward then, a pained expression appearing on her face. "I thought I'd already let this room go the day we carried my belongings down to the cottage." A sigh. "I was wrong. I'm not sure _I'm_ ready to let this house go, Charles. How stupid of me … It was never _ours._ It was most certainly never _mine_ \- they were _your_ family, after all, for almost your whole life."

"But it _was_ our house, Elsie. It was our home for so many years _._ As you've pointed out to me many times, we had our family here, of a sort. We built a life here. We built our life _together_ here in this house, and it's been able to continue outside of these fine walls.

"I'm sorry to see it empty, and I'm devastated beyond measure to see the Crawleys forced to leave. But although it feels so different to me, so empty in many ways, you've made me see that we can still walk around and feel _now_ how we did _then._ And that," he said, wrapping his arms around his wife's waist, "is worth its weight in gold."

She could only nod and allow a few of her tears to drop down her face and onto his sleeve as she leaned back onto his chest.

After a few moments, he bent down to place a kiss to her temple. "Have I told you how happy I am that you stayed?" he whispered, giving her a gentle squeeze. "That you didn't allow yourself to be whisked away by a handsome farmer?"

She chuckled. "Once or twice, I think." She wiped the last traces of her tears. "And I'm glad that _you_ stayed. I could barely abide the last few years you left for the Season; Haxby would have been indescribably horrible."

"For me as well, in a variety of ways. I often think all of that happened for a reason."

"Mmm. You may be right. I wished I could have confided in you then how hurt I was that you'd consider leaving. But it wasn't as if you owed me anything _._ I understood, and yet I didn't."

Charles looked at her, his head tilted and a look of sorrow on his face. "I'm sorry, Els. I truly didn't know how you felt, not then. I was beginning to accept how _I_ felt, but I didn't think you'd ever return the sentiment. I wondered, at the time, if it would be easier if I just left. Easier for _me._ When you told me you'd miss me … well, it was something of a shock. I felt as though you meant it in a more personal way than just as a friend, but I couldn't allow myself to hope."

"That's when your letters changed, though," she replied, thinking of the correspondence they shared when he would spend the Season in London with the family. "The tone, it was more … familiar, I suppose. I liked it. It gave me hope, something with which I could heal my heart when I was missing you the most. I'd tuck your words away until evening, and read them sitting in that chair," she said, pointing to the empty space, "drinking my sherry and wondering if you were doing the same."

"Oh, my love," he murmured, reaching down to kiss her fully. They got lost in each other's embrace - the last they'd have in this house - and each began to feel the painful memory subside and, in its place, a soothing balm that seemed to be coming from the house itself, a sense of peace all around them, one which enabled them to feel strong enough to leave it behind at last.

* * *

 _ **So we stay at home**_

 _ **And I'm by your side**_

 _ **And you know**_

 _ **What's going on inside**_

 _ **Inside my heart ...  
**_

"Charlie! They'll be here any minute! Are you ready yet?" she called up the stairs, frantically trying to tidy her hair in the looking glass. Her husband's steps echoed off the walls of their cottage, his necktie in his hand as he rounded the corner. He handed it to her, helpless in his agitation.

"Please?"

She took it wordlessly, a twinkle in her eye despite her harried demeanor. "Who'd have ever thought, the two of us, barely presentable! You, unable to do up a simple necktie. My hair a mess. _They've_ certainly never seen us like _this_."

"I should hope not," he huffed. "We _did_ retire and move out soon after we were married," he added with a twinkle in his eye.

The Crawleys were coming to tea that afternoon. Elsie had offered the invitation to Lady Grantham never thinking they'd actually _accept._ She had merely extended it as a kindness, wanting to repay them for the privilege of having been asked to dine at Grantham House the previous month.

She and Charles hadn't exactly _planned_ to fall back into bed at one o'clock, and certainly hadn't expected to doze off in one another's arms an hour later, rather spent, only to wake at half-three with barely enough time to dress again and make themselves presentable.

 _Such is retired life,_ Elsie thought with a smile. _And at least Lord and Lady Grantham, of all the couples we know, understand the phrase 'happily married.'_

The knock at the door startled her, but Elsie hurried to open it as Charles gave a final pat-down to his hair. He'd stopped forcing it into place with the pomade once he and Elsie had retired, but found himself wishing he'd done something about it today.

However, as soon as Elsie turned the corner he forgot all about his hair, for his Lordship and her Ladyship had just walked through the doors of the cottage, looking for all the world as though they felt they were intruding. Years of butler training kicked in, and Charles approached them, surprised and pleased when Lord Grantham offered a handshake.

"It's wonderful to see you both again. Thank you for having us," Cora gushed.

"It is our pleasure, Milady," Elsie replied. "Please, let me take your coat."

Elsie held her arms up as Cora turned, but it was Robert who removed his wife's coat, then handed it to Elsie.

"Times have changed, Mrs. Carson," he said with a smile. "No Lady's maids or valets, and I'm happy to say we've been managing quite well on our own." He shot a meaningful look at Cora, one which Charles didn't miss and which caused him to blush slightly, much to his own wife's amusement.

"I'm glad to hear it," Elsie said kindly, trying valiantly as they all moved to the parlour to rid her mind of images of husbands and wives dressing and undressing one another. "It must feel like such a new life in London these days, what with all the changes. How has it been for the Ladies? And the grandchildren?"

"They miss the house, of course," Robert answered, taking the drink that Charles had just poured for him. "Thank you, Carson," he said absentmindedly.

"Yes, we all do," Cora added. "But George has grown rather accustomed, I think. And of course Marigold and Edith have been in London for ages now, so she's been a bit easier to adjust to everything."

"George asked me when we could return to the house," Robert said. "Last week, I think it was. I tried to explain that we could go when it opens officially, and he seemed happy that others would get to see it."

"I can't believe he's already nine years old!" Elsie exclaimed. She looked directly at Cora, and the women shared a sympathetic look.

"It's goes fast," Cora added, "as you well know, with Brenna and Jack both getting so big. We see Brenna all the time, of course, as she and George have become inseparable."

"Yes, Master George is a fine lad," Charles stated. "They do seem fond of one another."

"My wife has a theory about that," Robert chuckled.

Charles looked at Elsie, who just raised her eyebrows innocently.

"You don't say, Milord?" he said. "Funny, so does mine."

"Och, I think it's _sweet_ ," Elsie defended. "And if it turns into something someday, so be it."

"Exactly, Mrs. Carson!" Cora beamed. "See, Robert? I told you she'd agree with me."

The rest of the visit passed just as smoothly and, by the time the Crawleys rose to leave, the sun had gone down considerably.

"I fear we've horribly overstayed our welcome," Cora apologized to Elsie, "but I can't remember when I've had such a relaxing and _fun_ afternoon."

"It was a pleasure having you visit us in our home, Milady," Elsie answered, helping Cora on with her coat as the men talked outside. "We do miss everyone at Downton, but we've enjoyed our retirement, I'll not lie."

"As well you should," Cora emphasized. "You both gave so much of your lives to our family, Mrs. Carson. I'm glad you were able to find your way to one another, to enjoy the best years of your lives _together."_ She reached out and squeezed Elise's hand, and was surprised to feel the gesture returned to her own.

"Thank you for that, Milady. It means much more to me than you know."

"I'm a happily married woman, Mrs. Carson … and I can spot another one a mile away." She turned her gaze out the door, where Charles and Robert were laughing about something one of them had said. "You've changed him, you know - even Robert sees it. I think it was gradual, but you always seemed to steady him somehow, make him more like the man he was when Robert was growing up. It's so clear now - you complete one another," she said kindly.

"Cora! My dear, we must let the Carsons enjoy what's left of their evening," Robert called.

The women joined them outside, everyone bidding one another goodbye. Elsie smiled as she felt her husband's hand at the small of her back, a soft touch in the presence of their former employers - a sure sign that Lady Grantham had been right - that Charles had, indeed, changed. It came as no surprise to his wife, but it was nice to see that others acknowledged it.

"That was ... interesting," Charles said as the car drove off. "I actually _enjoyed_ having them here."

"As did I. You know, she called him 'Robert' when she was talking to me. It was as though she'd forgotten I'm simply a housekeeper."

"But you're not, my dear. Not anymore. And Lady Grantham has always had nothing but respect and fondness for you. I know this - she's told me many times."

"Is that so? I had no idea she'd spoken of me to you! And she's fond of you, too, you know. She was positively beaming when she talked about how different you seem since retiring - how you seem so much like your younger self. It was lovely of her to say."

"Lovely and true," he said. "Elsie?"

"Hmm?"

"Let's go through … I see a wee glass of sherry in our immediate future, hopefully accompanied by cuddling in front of the fire on our lovely sofa."

"My thoughts exactly, Charles. You always know what's going on inside my head, you know," she said, reaching up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss to his lips, "and my heart - and I love you for it."

* * *

 **A/N: Please leave a wee review if you can. I'm trying to respond via PM until this website gets itself sorted regarding not posting your reviews. But I am getting them in my email, so yay!  
Three chapters to go , my friends. My thanks to you all, both the new visitors and those who have been with me on this Music journey since the beginning. xxx **


	14. True Companion

**A/N: There are several parallels here to "Music of the Heart" - starting with the first paragraph below - as we embark upon the final three chapters of this story. If you haven't read "MotH" yet, or are picking this fic up right here, please go back and catch up if you have time; there are many references here to "MotH" and also to previous chapters of this story, starting with the very first paragraph. Go ahead … this will keep.**

 **This is a two-hankie chapter, as Jim Carter would say. I shed many tears envisioning and writing it, and also as I went over and proofread it. I'm sorry if it upsets you. I have no defense except to say that the ending for this saga was always meant to be this way. There will be one chapter after this one, and then an Epilogue as well. The idea for MoOL - the entire reason it became a story and not a one-shot - was a desire to show the love that their marriage would bring to the rest of their lives, through all the trials and tribulations that it may bring. While it was mostly written pre-S6, I've tossed a couple of S6 details in here. The rest, obviously, is still AU.**

 ***TW: Dementia-related illness. MAJOR character death. My thanks to Doc Chatelaines for the use of a line from one of her fics, which I asked her about months ago and which she happily agreed to let me have.**

 **Thanks to silhouettedswallow for beta services on this chapter. A good amount of research went into this one, and her input around simple things like war rationing and even names was invaluable.**

 **Song choice: "True Companion," by Marc Cohn. It's on my Spotify playlist. It is truly an amazing song. I know most readers don't bother with the playlist, but this one is particularly poignant. Also on You Tube.**

 **Please don't hate me. xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **1942 - Time jump of ten years from last chapter**_

Charles woke with a start, the nightmare gripping him once again. _War … fear … the children, crying ..._ He sat up slowly, rubbing his hands roughly over his face to bring himself into full consciousness, as though he could rub the nightmare away completely.

"Charlie?" Elsie's soft voice came to him from her pillow. "Oh, love … it's alright." She reached a hand out to him and he gripped it firmly, the tremor in his hand somehow keeping itself at bay despite his anxiety. Medication was helping him in that regard, but not consistently.

"Yes … just that dream." He took a deep breath and slid back down on the pillow, and Elsie scooted herself closer to his side, wrapping her arm around his torso and hugging him tightly.

"Go back to sleep, love," he murmured, kissing her hair.

He couldn't take his own advice, unfortunately. They were a country at war once again, and Charles was terrified. Terrified for his grandchildren, coming of age in such a time; terrified for himself and for Elsie, knowing that war rationing was going to affect them as harshly as everyone else, making him worry even more than usual about their health. It was true that they didn't have the financial worries of many of their friends; they'd not left most of their money invested in stocks, but had pulled it into private savings accounts that had fared much better. But he was grateful for the tiny garden patch that he maintained out back and for the small stock of chickens at the Mason farm. They had, of course, seen it all happen before … but now they were living through it without the protection of a home like Downton, and rations for two (or even four or six, when they had meals with their "family") didn't stretch nearly as far as rations for a houseful of family upstairs and servants down.

Eventually, he managed to turn his thoughts to the following day, when they'd be welcoming their mixed family to the cottage for a wonderful celebration. He smiled as he thought of his darling Brenna, now aged seventeen and wise beyond her years, newly engaged to George Crawley. It had been no secret that George planned to join the RAF and fight for Britain, no surprise that his decision was what had made Brenna put her foot down: she had adamantly refused to let him go unless they were married.

And so, amidst the gloom and terror of impending wartimes, Charles and Elsie found themselves hosting an engagement party at their cottage. He remembered Brenna would be arriving early, and finally managed to fall asleep when he calmed his mind and thought about time spent alone in his granddaughter's always-pleasant company.

* * *

 _Baby I've been searching like everybody else_

 _Can't say nothing different about myself_

 _Sometimes I'm an angel_

 _And sometimes I'm cruel_

 _And when it comes to love_

 _I'm just another fool ..._

"Granddad," Brenna whispered, hugging him tightly when she entered the cottage. "I've missed you so."

Charles looked at his lovely girl – a woman now, really, and he could hardly believe it – and his heart swelled. She resembled her mother in sweetness and demeanor, but was all John Bates when you looked at her: solidly-built, kind eyes that crinkled and sparkled when she smiled, and dark, wavy brown hair that she rarely wore down.

"And I, you, my darling lass," he returned. "Now, tell me, how is George?"

"Very well, thank you. He'll be arriving soon with Mary. I can't tell you how happy I am that you were willing to have us all _here_ to celebrate." She looked around the cottage fondly, both of them knowing it was her home away from home. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

"And how is the inn?" he asked, motioning for her to take her grandmother's chair by the fireplace as he took his own.

"Going well, given that we're a country at war. Mum convinced Papa that they both deserved a half-day off for the party, so they're leaving everything in Niall's hands."

Charles nodded his approval. Niall, he remembered, was John's cousin from Ireland, who'd come over to help John and Anna get the Grantham Arms up and running again. It was rough going at first, with the previous owner having swept years' worth of bad business practices under the rug, but the Bates couple were nothing if not patient and shrewd, and the place had flourished under their care.

Elsie brought in tea and chatted with them for a bit, then headed into the kitchen to finish up the party preparations.

"Can I help with anything, Granny?" Brenna called after her, but Elsie shook her head.

"No, lass, but I thank you." She gave her girl an appraising look. "I sense your time might be better spent with your Granddad," she added quietly, reaching out to squeeze Brenna's shoulder. The younger woman nodded gratefully, knowing it was always impossible hiding anything from Elsie.

"What's this?" Charles asked, eyebrows raised, a kindness on his face as he contemplated his granddaughter. "Is something on your mind, my dear?"

"Yes," Brenna answered thoughtfully. "Granddad, I need to discuss something with you … and I'd like your honest opinion and advice, please."

Charles looked over at her, seeing the way she twisted her hands in her lap and stared at them, and her resemblance to Elsie – no physical reason for it existing at all – was so striking that it took his breath way. He could see his darling wife as she'd appeared decades ago, a nervous housemaid in a new house, looking as though she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.

He pulled his mind back to the present. "You may ask me _anything,_ my dear," he managed to say.

Brenna heard something in his voice and looked up. "Granddad … are you alright?"

He smiled and nodded. "Yes, of course. It's just … you looked so much like your Granny there that, for a moment, I felt as if I were transported back in time."

"Yes, well … that's sort of what I'd like to talk to you about," she hedged, and he waited patiently for her to continue.

"When you met Granny, it was because she came to work at Downton, correct?"

He nodded.

"And you were friends long before anything else, weren't you?"

"We were. We always harbored a respect for one another, I'd like to think, and once she was promoted to housekeeper we ended up working side-by-side. It was that which allowed us to form a wonderful friendship."

"And you fell in love _after_ that, I remember her telling me," Brenna replied fondly. "But … well … how did you _know_ you were in love with her, Granddad?"

 _Ah, here it is._ He smiled softly at his darling girl. _She wants to be_ _ **sure.**_ Oh, but how well Charles remembered _that_ feeling! Years of walking through the corridors of the Abbey by Elsie's side, hoping for the accidental brush of her arm against his, picking up on wisps of fragrance from her hair or a new lotion and committing them to memory. And still, after all that, not being completely _sure_ until she'd taken his hand at the beach, after years of her pushing and prodding him towards something _more._

He sighed. "You know, I can't pinpoint the _when,_ exactly. I can look back to things and think, 'Yes, I loved her then,' but the _falling in love_ bit – well, that just happened over time."

She nodded sagely, a small smile playing about her lips. "Yes," she murmured.

Charles looked at her, and forged ahead. Years of being Elsie's husband had taught him much about discussing his feelings and, while it was uncomfortable to be so frank with anyone _but_ Elsie, Brenna had come to him seeking his assurance, and he would never turn his granddaughter away because of any discomfort that _he_ might feel.

"I think I finally _knew_ that I was in love with her because, at one point, she started to appear in my dreams ... although, if I am honest, I'd suspected it long before that," he said softly, his gaze turned toward the flickering flames in the hearth. "She'd taken my hand once, you see, at the beach ... had steadied me as I was nervous about wading too far into the waves. And I realized she'd been steadying me for years, and that I wasn't sure what I'd ever do without her. It made me contemplate retirement, for the first time in ... well," he chuckled, "in my entire _life._ And then, just as I'd worked up the courage to tell her how I felt, in the wild hopes that she might feel the same, her sister died unexpectedly. She had to travel back to Scotland, to her home, and I worried foolishly that she might not return. The thought of living without her was the greatest fear I'd ever known."

He turned his soft gaze back toward his granddaughter, appreciating the sweet look on her face as she listened to his story.

"I suppose what I mean by telling you all of that is _this:_ If he goes away, as I know he plans to do, will he haunt your dreams? When you envision your future, is he always a part of it – and not just as the friend he's always been, but as your most cherished companion? As the father of your children, perhaps?" he added, feeling the faint, small pang in his heart and hearing Elsie's voice in the back of his mind: _'No regrets, Charles.'_

He continued, "Is he the one you want to grow old with? My dear, if you cannot imagine your life _without_ him, then be sure you end up _with_ him."

She whispered, "Yes … that's it, exactly. That _fear._ I worried that it was only because I've known him my entire life, that what I felt was friendship … but what you've just described is _exactly_ how I feel."

"You know, I thought I'd found love, once – with a woman named Alice – long before I met your grandmother," he said. "But I didn't have those dreams with Alice. What I _did_ have was a friend that I thought was a lovely woman and, in many ways, she _was._ I truly thought I wanted to marry her, but she chose someone else. It hurt to lose her, but it didn't shatter me completely. It was your grandmother who made me realize I could let that part of my past go, that it had been sweet but that life had so much more to offer. I'd never really imagined growing old with Alice, you see. But Elsie … she was in _every_ vision I had of my future."

"I'm _terrified_ of him leaving, Granddad, truly. I'd never ask him not to, but I think I would die if he never returned to me."

Charles reached over and took her hand, squeezing it firmly. "Then marry him, my dear. Take his name – become a _family._ No one knows what the future may hold, or how much longer any of us will be here to see it – your Granny tells me that all the time, and she's _right._ Grab onto all the happiness you can, and you'll make it until he returns home. His mother certainly knows all about that painful waiting ... as does yours," he said thoughtfully.

"Thank you, Granddad," she said, getting up and hugging him tightly. "I knew I could count on you. It's just such a _big_ decision ... I wasn't really having second thoughts, but I wanted to be sure."

"It is big," he agreed, returning her embrace, "but it's one of the best you'll ever make, mark my words. I don't know what I'd have done without your grandmother all these years."

Brenna nodded. "Mum says the same about Papa."

 _So don't you dare and try to walk away_

 _I've got my heart set on our wedding day_

 _And when I take your hand_

 _I'll watch my heart set sail..._

* * *

 _That went well,_ Elsie thought as she dried the last of the plates and stacked them on the shelf. She and Charles had switched jobs last year – now he washed, and she dried – after his hand had betrayed him and he'd dropped one of their glasses on the floor, shattering it to bits. She didn't mind, certainly; it had been such a small change to their routine, but it had made him feel more confident in his ability to help out.

"That went very well," he said aloud, smiling as she looked shocked. "Read your mind, did I?" he teased, depositing a few suds on her nose as he tapped it. She laughed and brushed them off, then stood on her tiptoes for a kiss.

"Mm, that you did," she said. "Thank you for talking to Brenna. I suspected she needed your reassurance, and that you'd be able to do that as no one else would. She seemed perfectly content at the party, her beau by her side."

"I know how she feels," he said simply. "I know what it's like to be in love so strongly that its power consumes you, makes you terrified that when your love leaves your side they might not return to you."

"When did I ever lea– _ohhh,"_ she said quietly, nodding. "Becky."

Charles hummed in agreement.

"But I was only gone just over two days, Charlie."

"Perhaps, but they were the longest days of my life. I'd just declared myself to you, and had gotten no real response. I was fairly sure I knew how you felt, but you needed to wrap yourself up in taking care of Becky's funeral and facing the past that you shared with her. I recall staying behind and just praying for you to return to me, for you to _not_ stay in Scotland forever. I didn't know then what I know now, remember."

He smiled fondly and extended his arms out to her, inviting her into his embrace. When she readily complied, he added softly, "It's when I found your book."

"Ah, yes," she smiled. "And when I returned, I experienced the most wonderful night of my life - up to that point."

He kissed her sweetly, sharing in her memory, and then asked, "And which night, may I ask, superseded _that_ one?"

She backed away a bit and reached up to cup his face, her fingertips running through the thinning hair at his temple as she ran her soft thumb over his cheek and lips.

"Every night since," she whispered, placing a kiss to his cheek. "And don't you ever forget it."

He saw the tear in the corner of her eye and bent to kiss it away, amazed once again at how the depth of her love could often render him speechless.

 _Yes, I'll climb a mountain_

 _I'm gonna swim the sea_

 _There ain't no act of God girl_

 _Could keep you safe from me_

 _My arms are reaching out_

 _Out across this canyon_

 _I'm asking you to be my true companion ..._

* * *

Charles had first noticed something odd on Brenna and George's wedding day. He'd required Elsie's help to dress for church, and he'd handed her his cufflinks, the trembling having acted up more than usual that morning. Elsie had taken them from his hands and looked at them, a furrow on her brow ...

… " _Elsie?" he asked quietly, embarrassed that he needed her help with such a routine thing. "Are you alright?"_

 _She nodded and began to pass the first one through a buttonhole without having folded the cuff over first._

 _He reached up and touched his hand to hers, stopping her, and folded the cuff over himself. He looked at her quizzically, wondering where on earth her mind had been._

" _Oh, I see," she muttered, he felt truly_ _ **afraid**_ _. It wasn't as though her mind had been elsewhere; it was as though she had no idea how to put them in at all. His cufflinks, the things she'd been putting in for him for years now; the old, familiar pair, the ones that she'd given him the year he turned seventy ..._

It had scared the hell out of him, and he remembered hoping it would never happen again. He'd thought it a wise decision at the time to not say anything at all.

 _Bound to happen eventually,_ he remembered thinking then. _We are all forgetful at times._

In hindsight, he wished he'd mentioned it to Richard and Isobel instead of waiting so long to ask for advice. Because, of course, it _had_ happened again. And again.

* * *

When he looked back on it, Charles shouldn't have been surprised that it was Sybbie who first asked him about Elsie. Oh, to be sure, it _had_ been Jack who'd been the first to notice something amiss, something _not quite right_ with his darling Granny, but it was all thanks to Sybbie that they'd discovered what, exactly, was happening. And when she'd approached him about it, during a quiet afternoon when she'd stopped by to visit - he'd been reading in the parlour as Elsie had been napping upstairs - he collapsed against the back of his chair, burst into tears, and confessed every single one of his fears to her.

And, God bless her, Sybbie – the one who'd been away studying medicine just like her darling mother, and had only recently returned to visit her family in England – was able to give him some _answers._ It had been going on for about a few years, he figured, and had started off so slowly that he'd just chalked it up to old age.

But Sybbie confirmed his worst fears; it _wasn't_ just old age, and there wasn't a lot that they could do to stop it, either. She asked him to try and explain what had been happening and he readily complied, sharing memories of things which had seemed strange at first, but which had become more frightening as their frequency increased ...

… _Jack had been out tilling the garden patch, and was just coming in to wash his hands after finishing._

" _It's all set, Granddad," he called out to Charles, who was reading on the patio._

" _Thank you, my boy," Charles replied. "I'm very grateful. This old back can't manage it anymore, I'm afraid. Head on through to the kitchen, I think Granny has something for you."_

 _Jack laughed. "I can smell them from here, and I love her for it!"_

 _He made his way into the kitchen and bussed Elsie's cheek. "You know you're the best grandmother on the planet, don't you?" he praised her, the same words he_ _always_ _said whenever he visited._

 _She said nothing, just looked at him strangely before smiling her brilliant smile._

" _Thank you," she replied eventually, motioning for him to sit._

' _Thank you?' he wondered, fully expecting her typical reply: 'And you're the best grandson on the planet –_ _you_ _know_ _that,_ _don't you?' But it hadn't come. Odd, that._

 _Elsie busied herself by plating the biscuits, the ones she still managed to make taste wonderful despite the limited ingredients at her disposal._

" _Now," she'd asked, "Jack … milk, or sugar?"_

 _He looked up sharply, biting down on a comment about how she was teasing him ... because he saw the truth in her eyes._

 _How can she not know? he'd thought. She's been preparing my tea for over twelve years now!_

" _Milk, please," he'd said politely._

 _I'll have to ask Granddad about that, Jack thought …_

"They've given it a name, after the doctor who's done so much research on it," Sybbie told him. "They're calling it Alzheimer's Disease. It's a type of senility, but people who suffer from it often have accompanying physical symptoms. She may have difficulty doing things that should be routine, like plaiting her hair or making a pot of porridge, perhaps?"

Charles nodded, and Sybil barely caught his whisper … something about _buttons,_ she thought. She asked him to clarify, and he did …

… " _Elsie? Surely you aren't wearing that today?" He hadn't meant it to come out rudely, but he was just stunned at the appearance of the woman who stood before him._

" _What's wrong with what I've got on, Charles?" She looked down at herself, thinking: skirt, stocking, sweater, blouse … shoes._

" _Um," he flustered, "well, you never wear that blouse with that skirt, love. They don't go, do they, the blouse a bit too … formal? And your sweater … it's not buttoned properly," he said, softening his voice as he reached to undo her buttons, his fingers thankfully cooperative that day._

" _It doesn't go, does it? I wondered," she frowned. "But I couldn't find the blue one that you love. And the buttons were giving me trouble … they always give me trouble, Charlie, you know that," she added, placing a sweet kiss to his cheek._

 _No, they don't give you trouble, he thought, and that blouse is hanging in the wardrobe where it_ _always_ _is. What is bloody going_ _on?_

 _He finished buttoning her sweater and squeezed her arm gently, a sad smile on his lips as he contemplated his wife._

" _Thank you, Charlie," she said softly, and she went down ahead of him to make their breakfast as if nothing odd had happened …_

"Eventually she may slow down, nap more, become short-tempered at times. More spunky than usual," Sybbie smirked.

"Yes, I've seen that," he said in all seriousness. "I wondered, as I said, if it was simply all because of aging."

But Sybbie shook her head. "No, I don't believe so. Not with the types of things you're describing. I'm sorry."

"What should I expect in the future? Do you have any idea?" he asked.

Sybbie sighed deeply, and nodded. "Somewhat, yes. Patients who have this illness often forget more than just how to do simple tasks. They seem to lose chunks of memories; things that should be significant may become things they can no longer recall without assistance. And that comes and goes, so it's very difficult to work around. Some people lose their sense of time, and think the present day is ten years ago; others forget people they should know, or forget things like what month it is or when their birthday is."

"But she's nothing like that," he said, shaking his head. "Not at all, and the other things have been happening for a while. Perhaps that's not what this is." He realized he was almost pleading with her, and saw the truth in her eyes before she spoke.

"Perhaps not, but it more than likely _is._ And, knowing her, I'm guessing that she's aware of it at times, that she's frustrated by it?"

"She is," he replied sadly. "Sybbie ... what do I do? I've been brushing it off so far, making it out to be nothing, and she's not aware of _all_ of the odd things that have been happening ... or perhaps she doesn't remember them."

"Take it one day at a time. Do things that are familiar, and guide her when you feel like she's grasping at something. The doctor I was studying with would have families go through photographs on a regular basis, discussing the people's names and what was happening in each one. For a few patients it was too frustrating, but for many it helped and became something they looked forward to.

"I wish I had an easy answer for you, and you _should_ see your own doctor to discuss it, of course, but I do think it sounds like this is what she has. I'm so very sorry," Sybbie said kindly. "But when my father wrote to me and described something _he'd_ noticed on his last visit ... well, I thought I should see you about it."

"Thank you. Everyone except Isobel seemed to think it was nothing serious, and even Isobel was hesitant to say much at all - a rarity, which is what first made me truly concerned."

He swallowed the lump that was growing in his throat, and asked the question he'd been dreading to ask.

"Is it possible that, one day, Elsie may not know even know who _I_ am?"

Sybbie reached out and squeezed his hand.

"Let's hope not."

* * *

The Carsons went down to the lake after the winter thaw. Elsie couldn't wait to see the sun's rays bouncing over the water, and had been feeling rather shut up in the house the past few months. Charles suggested bringing their photo album, wanted to have a day of reminiscing and just cuddling together in the fresh air, and she readily agreed.

Elsie knew something was wrong, knew by now that her mind wasn't working as sharply as it had in the past. She felt blessed to have Charles, who reminded her every day that if she was frustrated or struggling she needed only to ask and he'd be right there to help her. But there were things she needed to address with him, and she needed to do it soon, before she would no longer be able to.

 _Today it is,_ she told herself.

They spread the blanket down over her bench and Elsie sat first, scooting over a bit until she was comfortable, and then Charles joined her. She smiled at how slowly they sat, a sad smile for how careful they needed to be at their age, and she was grateful for a lifetime of physical work which had kept them in good shape for most of their lives. True, his hand trembled a bit even with his medication, but with the changes in their diet forced by rationing, and with them taking walks whenever the weather allowed, they'd both managed to keep at a healthy weight. The doctor said exercise and diet were very important for both of them, and they'd taken that to heart ... minus the biscuits, which Charles had cut down on but adamantly refused to give up altogether.

"Charlie," she said, trying to frame what she wanted to communicate in her mind, "I need to talk to you about something."

"What is it, love?"

She took a deep breath, and then forged ahead. "I suspect you know. I realize that I'm … struggling … with things," she said haltingly. "It's infuriating, and I feel that it's getting worse." She paused and licked the inside of her lip, biting it gently as she did so. "I know Sybbie came to see you a couple of weeks ago," she added. "I heard you chatting in the parlour, but couldn't make out what you were saying."

"Oh," he breathed. _It was more than a couple of weeks ago, Els._

"You were crying, Charlie. It's something very bad, isn't it?" Her eyes filled, and she wiped at them angrily with the back of her hand, not bothering to find a handkerchief. "Is it time to visit with the doctor?"

He sighed, struggling to maintain a steady composure so that he could relay the _facts_ that she so desperately craved and not the _feelings_ that she perhaps did not need at the moment.

"It may be," he began. "Sybbie said she thinks what you're experiencing is an illness, and not just something attributed to old age." He saw her stiffen at the term _illness_ and pulled her in closer to his chest. "Not like Becky," he insisted.

"But it's something real, something ... different."

"Most likely, yes. She thinks it's something called Alzheimer's Disease."

She looked up at him, something akin to terror in her eyes. "What did she _say,_ Charlie? What does it _do?"_

"Well, it's different for everyone, and they are learning so much, so fast. From what Sybbie said, the forgetfulness is how it starts. You may forget where you put something, or maybe someone's name, how to get somewhere, perhaps. It's probably a good idea not to walk into town alone anymore, although you rarely do."

He paused as he approached the more serious things, but she nodded for him to continue, and he took a deep breath.

"It can be dangerous, because sometimes someone will forget to bank the stove properly, or to use a cloth when pulling something from the oven. Some people, when they progress further, forget how to dress or care for themselves without assistance."

"But I have you," she said, smiling as she reached over and patted his knee.

"But you have me," he answered, attempting to smile even though she saw right through it.

"And, some day, that won't be enough, will it?" she asked sadly, and he shook his head.

"No; eventually, I think, we'll _both_ need help."

"I'm so _angry,_ " she whispered, her tears coming forth anew. "These were going to be our best years, the _very best,_ weren't they? Spending time with our family, or together in front of the fire …"

"They _have_ been," he said, attempting to reassure her. "We have had wonderful years together, Elsie."

"Yes," she allowed, "but now you'll be stuck taking care of me, That's not what I wanted for you - you know that, Charlie."

He shifted and grasped her shoulders, turning her body to face him. He tucked his finger under her chin and tilted it up, forcing her to look him in the eyes.

"You are not, nor will you _ever_ be, a burden, Elsie Carson. Do you hear me? 'In sickness and in health.' I meant it then, and I'd take that vow again now if I were able. One day at a time."

She nodded, and reached for the photo album.

"We're to go through this, not just to reminisce, but to be sure that I _remember_ everyone, is that right?"

"Yes," he admitted. "Sybbie recommended it. I know you, Elsie. It will be easier for you to accept help from myself or Anna with dressing and cleaning, cooking and even bathing … but I know that if you forget a person's name, someone's _face,_ that will be worse."

"Quite right," she said. "So … every day? We can do this every day, yes?" Her voice dropped to a tearful whisper once again. "Because I _don't_ want to forget the children, Charlie, or our lovely grandbabies."

"Not babies anymore," he chuckled.

"I know," she replied fondly, "but they'll _always_ be that way to me."

He looked out over the water and took her hand in his, and smiled sadly when she squeezed it.

"Charlie? Will I have to leave? To go somewhere else?"

He turned sharply toward her.

" _Absolutely not,"_ he insisted. "We'll bring in someone 'round the clock if need be, but I'd like to avoid even that as long as possible. I promised," he finished in a whisper. "Do you remember?"

Elsie didn't know what he was talking about at first, and she cocked her head and filed through her memories … and found the right one, and smiled.

"You _did_ promise," she said. "I said I never wanted to leave this place, and you promised we would never have to."

"Exactly," he smiled, leaning in for a kiss. "Now, how about those photos?"

They spent an hour going through them, laughing as they remembered parties, the Clarksons' wedding, the birth of the grandchildren. They talked about the old days at the Abbey and, when Elsie turned one of the pages toward the end and happened upon one of Becky's drawings, she told Charles all of her favorite stories about her baby sister. He listened with full attention even though he'd heard two of them before. It wasn't something he chalked up to forgetfulness that time, though, but rather the reliving of her favorite stories in the way that families who gather at the holiday pass the same tales around and around every year. The sparkle in her eyes as she recounted them all would be worth any redundancy that they might bring in the future, he knew. They had a long road ahead of them, but he was committed to making her as happy as humanly possible for the entire way.

"I love you so much," he whispered when she was finished with her story. "Every new day with _you_ has been the best day of _my_ life, Elsie. No matter what comes our way, I'll do all in my power to make sure that you don't ever forget _that."_

 _When the years have done irreparable harm_

 _I can see us walking slowly arm in arm_

 _And when I look in your eyes_

 _I'll still see that spark_

 _Until the shadows fall_

 _Until the room grows dark …_

* * *

Elsie remained unchanged for most of the next year. But when the hard winter set in again, and she and Charles found themselves confined to the cottage more frequently, he noticed an increase in her level of agitation. They'd been operating on an even keel for quite a while, but one morning he woke to the sounds of her agonized shouts coming from the kitchen, and shuffled downstairs to see what was the matter.

"Charlie, the cat must've gotten out," she said, frantic with worry, and his heart sank.

 _Oh, my God … she doesn't remember_.

Thunder, Elsie's cherished companion for the past many years, had died three summers ago after being stricken ill. They'd buried her in the backyard, the flat stone marker currently covered in a dusting of snow.

He had no idea what to tell her.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," he said, drawing his wife into his arms. "She's very resourceful."

He felt Elsie nod, and offered to plate up some shreds of last night's roast, to put out for Thunder if she returned.

Later that night, as they were seated at the table, Elsie suddenly burst into tears, and looked accusingly at her husband.

"She's gone, isn't she? She's gone, and she's not coming back, and you never told me! _Why?"_

Charles rose from his chair and held out his hand, beckoning Elsie to do the same. "Come with me," he said.

He helped her into her coat and boots and donned his own, then brought her out to the patio. He crouched down carefully by the edge of the stones and brushed the snow off of the grave marker – the one Elsie had painted herself – and hoped for the best.

"Ohh," she murmured. "I remember now." And her tears fell, the pain sharp as it had been the day she'd set the stone. "I'm sorry, Charlie – I was cross with you, and I had no reason."

"Shh, that's alright," he soothed her. "It may happen again, you know."

She looked intently into his eyes. "If it does, please just tell me the truth," she insisted, "even if I do not believe you, just keep telling me the truth. I need that from you."

He nodded, silently praying that he'd be able to maintain his commitment as the months went on.

* * *

A few months later, Elsie suffered a fall and cut herself – badly. She was rushed to the hospital and stitched up, the gash in her arm bleeding profusely. The doctors had seemed suspicious, and Charles thought they may have even suspected him of harming his wife; but then he'd explained her condition, and they understood. Elsie had woken in the middle of the night and had gone downstairs to prepare a meal, convinced for some reason that it was an appropriate time to do so. Charles had woken soon after and gone down when he heard her bustling about, and he'd walked in just in time to see her stumble and fall, the sharp knife in her hand coming into contact with her arm.

Charles made a decision that day: Any sharp knives would need to be taken out of their kitchen, and he would have to make supplemental arrangements for her care. Elsie fought him tooth and nail about the knives, but eventually she realized he was only being stubborn to ensure her care.

"Can you ask Anna? Please?" she requested, and he quickly agreed. He didn't bother telling Elsie that he and Anna had worked out a potential schedule for Elsie's care only last month, with Anna herself and, occasionally, Brenna, coming over in shifts to assist him in the caring of his wife.

Eventually, though, the type of care they needed changed again, because Elsie was mostly confined to her bed. Her body had begun to shut down – an inevitable result of her illness, but one that the doctors still failed to be able to explain in anything beyond theories – and simply rising for bathing took a great deal of her energy. Anna would come to assist her with that, and between Anna and Charles they managed to dress her and put up her hair every day, but that was the extent of her activity level other than some reading and knitting, when she could focus long enough on them to manage it, and she napped frequently.

And, through it all, Charles remained steadfast by her side. On the days that Anna came to help Elsie, Charles asked her to stay long enough for him to bathe himself and put away the clean clothing and linens that their hired washing woman had brought. Brenna, Isobel, Beryl, and Mary took turns coming by at meal times so that Elsie was never left alone in their bedroom while Charles was downstairs preparing the food; more often than not, however, the women simply brought a meal along with them, taking some pressure off of Charles while they visited with Elsie. She struggled to remember who they were some days, but she was always comforted when Charles would come into the room.

"There's my handsome butler," she'd say, and he'd bend down to receive her loving kiss. "I wondered when you'd be home from the Abbey."

"I couldn't wait to get back to you, Mrs. Hughes," he'd reply, and her smile was always worth its weight in gold.

During her last days, Charles took to climbing right into bed with her. He could sense from the amount of time she spent asleep, or not aware of her surroundings, that it wouldn't be long now. He held onto his own sanity by the thinnest thread, focusing instead on holding her close to him, softly caressing her hand with his thumb as she slept, and inhaling the lovely scent of her, something which had always been such a comfort to him over the years. He was ever so grateful to have lived long enough himself to see _her_ through until the end.

He often read to her from their favorite books, and was surprised one night when she requested a certain item in particular, the look of clarity in her eyes so startling that he knew then the end was very near, indeed, as she hadn't looked at him quite so determinedly in months.

"Of course," he smiled, and he rose to retrieve the book before returning to her side.

"Charlie, help me take this off," she said, indicating her buttons.

He nodded and assisted her in removing her nightgown, understanding without any explanation what she needed. He removed his own pajamas, and then climbed back in and held her tightly, her head resting on his chest as he began to read the passage marked in the requested novel.

 **" _You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read, since I first came here … "_**

She smiled up at him and nodded, remembering – _truly_ remembering – how these words had brought her so much hope so many years ago. He kissed her on the forehead, his eyes glistening, and continued to read.

 **" … _you have been in every prospect I have ever seen since – on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets. You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become acquainted with. The stones of which the strongest London buildings are made, are not more real, or more impossible to displace with your hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be … "_**

Elsie gasped, and Charles looked down at her in fear. She grasped his hand, willing him to stop reading. She spoke so infrequently these days, but he knew something important was struggling to escape her mind and lips now.

"What is it, love?"

"I have always loved you so very, very much. From the _first_ day. You need to know. Oh, the letters, Charlie … your letters …" she drifted off, but he nodded anyhow.

"Yes, in the box … I know. They are safe, love."

"Good. That's good. And the children? You'll tell them …"

His tears spilled out, but he didn't bother wiping them away. "Yes," he choked, "I will."

Elsie sat up, and reached for his face. She kissed at his tears and then his lips, longingly, as if she were trying to pour all of her love into that all-too-brief moment of contact.

She nodded firmly, then settled herself back down under his arm, running her hand over his chest, playing with the few grey hairs that remained there.

"Thank you," she whispered. Then she placed one last kiss to his chest, directly over his heart, and added, "I'll be waiting for you, my love. My one true companion, always … Promise you will look for me. You _promise_ me, Mr. Carson."

He sobbed at her words, rendered completely unable to speak for several minutes as he listened to her deep, soft breathing, the sound that tethered him to the here and now, the touch of her hand on him; for the first time ever, he thought, that touch could do nothing to steady him.

"I promise," he gasped.

After what seemed like forever, he felt a nudge. Elsie motioned to the book, and whispered, "You didn't finish."

He pulled on the last of his emotional reserves and managed to finish the requested passage:

 _ **" …** **to the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil. But in this separation I associate you only with the good, and I will faithfully hold you to that always, for you must have done me far more good than harm, let me feel now what sharp distress I may."**_

He closed the book and laid it down, then wrapped his arms around his wife. He held her and kissed her head repeatedly, his tears pouring down as he felt her breaths weaken and slow.

"I'll be waiting, Charlie … forever."

"I'll find you," he promised.

The next morning, he woke suddenly, a fragment of a dream in his mind. He knew that she was gone, and he bent to kiss her gently on the head.

"I'll find you, my love," he repeated, drawing her body close to his as he wept.

And then his dream came back to him full-force; he remembered the smell of the ocean and the sound of a soft, bright, familiar voice singing the sweetest of lullabies across the rippling waters of the lake, and felt deep in his heart that his beloved, beautiful wife had slipped away at some point in the darkness on the whisper of that haunting, melodious song.

"I promise."

 _Then when I leave this Earth_

 _I'll be with the angels standin'_

 _I'll be up there waiting for my true companion_

 _Just for my true companion._

* * *

 _ **tbc ... two to go. Please leave me a wee review if you are willing and able. xx**_


	15. How Can I Tell You?

**A/N: This is the next to last chapter of my "Music" saga. I thank all of you for your kind words regarding the** _ **previous**_ **chapter. Those of you who not only reviewed but also wrote to chat with me personally and make sure that** _ **I**_ **was okay really touched my heart. That last chapter took a piece of my soul and I have no shame in saying that. Still, I'm happy that I kept my original plan, which was for this sequel to show a wonderfully long marriage between Elsie and Charles, full of a love that would carry them through the rest of their days - and, perhaps, beyond. I plan to revisit this AU once in a while for fill-in one-shots, but not terribly often. Still, if you have a request of something you'd like to have seen, shoot me a PM.  
**

 _ **TW: Major character death. Not as sad as last, in my opinion**_ **.**

 **For those of you who wanted to see Elsie's funeral, I'm sorry - I had a list of things I could not bring myself to do, and that was near the top.**

 **Song choice here is "How Can I Tell You" by Cat Stevens. It's on the Spotify list. I realized after putting up "True Companion" that I'd not opened it on the list - it's there now, too.**

 **This chapter picks up immediately where the last one left off. My thanks to silhouettedswallow who, as always, had fab beta input.  
**

 **Love you guys.**

 **CSotA**

* * *

 _ **How can I tell you**_

 _ **That I love you?**_

 _ **I love you**_

 _ **But I can't think of right words to say.**_

 _ **Wherever I am girl,**_

 _ **I'm always walking with you.**_

 _ **I'm always walking with you,**_

 _ **But I look and you're not there ...**_

After about an hour, Charles forced himself to lay Elsie's body aside and get out of bed. It felt like it would be the hardest thing he'd ever have to do, leaving her for even an instant, but he knew the _truly_ hard bits had yet to come.

He bathed and dressed himself smartly, then proceeded downstairs, picked up the phone, and called Richard. His faithful friend passed the information along to the proper authorities, and then the Clarksons drove straight over to the Carsons' cottage to support their friend on that most difficult of days.

The rest of the morning and most of the afternoon brought a flurry of visitors, meals, thoughtful words, and tears. Charles spent a great deal of it in his chair by the fireplace, with Elsie's chair remaining painfully empty. He managed to greet everyone as they came in, but otherwise kept to himself. Every few minutes he would turn to say something to Elsie, only to remember that she wasn't there. After having her by his side for over half his life, he just could not wrap his head around the idea of her being gone.

It was Jack who was most concerned about his Granddad's seemingly far-away thoughts, who saw more than just the sadness everyone expected, and he was determined to do something about it. He went into the parlour and, pulling his Granny's chair alongside his Granddad's, he sat in it and patted Charles on the shoulder.

"She wouldn't want this to just sit there empty forever, like some kind of screaming reminder that she's gone. Not Granny."

Charles looked at Jack, attempted a smile, and shook his head. "I suppose you're right. She wouldn't." He said nothing else, but was grateful for the physical presence of the thoughtful lad; having him there, silent but steadfast, helped to remove just a bit of the sadness in the room.

Looking around midway through the afternoon, Charles spared a thought for how very lucky he was. He and Elsie had spent many wonderful years with the people currently passing through his home: John and Anna; Richard and Isobel; Robert, Cora, Mary, and Edith; the grandchildren, who'd arrived with George, Marigold, and Sybbie. Even Tom Branson had sent word that he'd be arriving in time for the funeral, flying in from New York to Southampton as soon as he could book travel. Beryl, Bill, and Daisy had been fluttering about in the kitchen, making sure everyone's tea was hot and that no one went hungry. Never before had the cottage held so many people at one time.

Charles couldn't remember ever feeling so lonely.

 _ **I long to tell you**_

 _ **That I'm always thinking of you.**_

 _ **I'm always thinking of you,**_

 _ **But my words just blow away,**_

 _ **Just blow away ...**_

Once Elsie's body was taken from the cottage and their friends and family began to leave, it was Anna who stayed behind to help with the next steps. She kissed her husband goodbye, squeezed his hand, and told him she'd call for a car when she was done; he understood her need to remain behind and wished her luck.

Beryl had left a full kettle on the stove, and Anna went in to make some hot tea. Almost as an afterthought, she added a few drops of whiskey to Charles's cup, then brought the tray into the parlour, setting it on the small table by the fire.

"Charles? Here," she said, cautiously handing him a cup. "It'll help," she added, and he nodded his thanks.

"I know why you've stayed, Anna, and I appreciate it. But I'm not sure I …" His eyes welled up again, but he found he no longer even cared.

"You _must,_ but I'll help you, don't worry," she said sadly. She noted the terrible tremble of his hand and her heart broke, for she knew that neither she nor anyone else would be able to calm it now.

"Take your time, I'm in no rush." She moved to throw more wood on the fire, then headed back into the kitchen to finish tidying up.

About half an hour later, Charles brought his empty cup into the kitchen and set it in the sink.

"I suppose I'd like to start with choosing the clothes," he said sadly. "Do you think you could drop them off for me?"

Anna nodded. "That sounds fine."

They made their way upstairs toward the bedroom, but Charles headed to the window instead of the armoire. He pulled the curtain aside and peered through the sparkling glass.

"She loved this view so much," he whispered tearfully. "I knew she would. It was one of the reasons I wanted to be _here_ instead of in some other cottage."

Anna approached him and leaned around his shoulder to see. "Ohh, how lovely," she said.

The sun was setting and it cast a deep red and orange glow over the lake, bouncing off the ripples and onto the surrounding bushes and trees. Anna could only imagine how wonderful it must have been for them to wake up in one another's arms, the beautiful view of the lake greeting them each day.

His eyes were focused on the patio below but his mind was lost in a memory of his wife, wrapped up in a blanket, with the deep reds and purples of the sunset reflected on her face and in her eyes.

… " _What on earth are you doing outside? It's freezing!"_

" _Come and see for yourself!"_

" _Happy Anniversary. Well, you know … sort of."_

" _I do … I did have faith you'd remember, but you said nothing …"_

" _Perhaps I should make that up to you? I'd ask you to marry me right now if I'd not already done so exactly one year ago today." …_

"Charles?"

Anna's touch, gentle on his arm, brought him out of his reverie; he turned to her and smiled.

"The first Christmas Eve we spent in this cottage, I caught her half-frozen out on the patio, staring at a sunset very much like this one. She'd been waiting for me to come home from some errand or other. The sunlight was making her face almost _glow,_ and the reflection of it off of the snow illuminated the entire scene. To this day, it remains one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen."

Anna wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and took a deep breath. "She _was_ a beautiful woman, inside and out. Come on then, let's see what we can find, hm?"

Together they made their way through the most recent items of Elsie's wardrobe, eventually choosing her favorite blouse and skirt. The outfit was not elegant, and she'd not worn it in a couple of months, but it had been an anniversary gift from him years ago.

"They'll both still fit, I think," he mumbled, and Anna nodded her agreement.

"Her ring," he added after a moment. "Will they allow me to have it?"

"Yes, of course," she answered quietly. "I'll make sure to mention it when I bring the clothes over."

"Good," he said, nodding. "That's good. Thank you."

The rest of the evening was spent sifting through different books looking for readings for the funeral service. They'd seated themselves on the sofa in the parlour, a small pile of poetry volumes between them. Charles had no notion that they'd finish everything tonight, but he knew that Anna felt he needed the distraction.

 _And she's probably right,_ he thought.

As she flipped through one of the books, Anna found a marked page that made her stop and take pause, a soft _ohhhh_ passing over her lips. On it was a poem that she had received from Elsie years ago, during what Anna had always thought of as "the dark years," when John was in prison. At the time, they'd been lines offered as an olive branch, an attempt to bridge the gap that the trial had forged between the women. The poem had been the balm that Anna had needed then, and she'd been forever grateful. She smiled as she thought of the paper she had tucked into the journal in her bedside table, seeing in her mind's eye Elsie's graceful script across the page.

Anna tried to pass the book to Charles but he shook his head and asked her to read it aloud instead.

She took a deep, steadying breath, and began:

 _Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet  
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low  
Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so  
Who art not missed by any that entreat._

 _Speak to mo as to Mary at thy feet!  
And if no precious gums* my hands bestow,  
Let my tears drop like amber while I go  
In reach of thy divinest voice complete  
In humanest affection - thus, in sooth,  
To lose the sense of losing-_

She stopped reading when she noticed Charles overwhelmed with emotion.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, seeing how the words had affected him.

"No, it's quite alright, my dear," he said, wiping at his face.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Sometimes you remind me so much of her, you know. You and Brenna. I know there's no real reason for it, but you have so many of the same qualities."

"I know what you mean. I often see it in Brenna as well," Anna said, swallowing a lump in her throat.

"Will you read that? At the funeral?"

Anna nodded. "I'll try, yes. Whatever you wish."

They spent a few moments in silence, and then Anna spoke again.

"I don't know what I'd have done without the two of you, during those years when John was gone. I have no idea how you and Elsie kept the ship afloat through the war … no idea how she kept _me_ afloat. If it weren't for her care I don't think I'd have remembered to even eat, let alone do my job. And ever since ..." She stopped speaking then, but it didn't matter – he understood all the same.

"You've returned that kindness and love in ways that even you may never know, my dear," Charles managed. "You and John have been a blessing to us both; you are, in all the ways that matter, the children we otherwise never would have had."

She reached across the sofa and grasped his hand in hers, squeezing gently, finding that words were no longer necessary.

An hour later, the funeral mostly planned, Anna called John to arrange for someone to fetch her from the cottage. He offered to come himself, but she protested. Her words fell on deaf ears, though, as John cited her fatigue and emotional distress. He wanted to comfort his wife; she didn't have the strength to argue with him, and - truth be told - she craved his presence by her side.

"Alright," she allowed.

"I love you," John whispered.

"I know," she replied. "I love you, too."

Anna replaced the earpiece on the telephone and turned to Charles. "John is coming himself - he'll be here soon. Do you need any help for the rest of the night? Something I can prepare for breakfast, perhaps?"

He shook his head. "No, but thank you. I'm going to pour a brandy, I think, and read … see if I can focus on something. I know I _am_ exhausted, but I feel as though I'll never sleep again."

"Yes, I'm sure," Anna replied gently. "Oh, John asked me to tell you that Tom is arriving tomorrow evening. He'd like to stop by and see you the day after he gets in, if that's all right."

"Good," Charles nodded, "that's good … "

"I'll be sure to tell him."

"Right. And the funeral will be the day after that."

Anna nodded. "One day at a time, though, remember?"

He smiled half-heartedly at her. "Yes, I remember."

 _ **Whoever I'm with,**_

 _ **I'm always, always talking to you,**_

 _ **I'm always talking to you,**_

 _ **And I'm sad that you can't hear,**_

 _ **Sad that you can't hear.**_

 _ **It always ends up to one thing, honey,**_

 _ **When I look and you're not there …**_

In the days following the funeral, Charles began to go through the cottage. He needed to keep himself busy, he knew that much, and it actually helped him to be in their shared space, surrounded by Elsie's presence: photographs of them, her clothing; the pillow that smelled like her, the dried lavender on the shelf; her books, her favorite afghan on the sofa.

Physically, he was faring well. If there was an increase in his tremor or a slowing down of his pace, they were slight. He missed Elsie's ministrations, how she used to hold his hand and still it with the warmth of her touch, even in those last days when she hadn't realized what she was doing. Since her death, the tremor was a constant companion. John had thoughtfully brought him some shirts without buttons, enabling him to dress himself more easily in the morning, for which Charles was more grateful than he'd admitted.

On the seventh day - he couldn't help but count them, these days when his heart seemed destined to remain shattered forever - started _talking_ to Elsie. He couldn't stand the oppressive silence anymore, it was making his mind too confused. He'd thought of doing it before, this talking aloud into thin air, but worried it might mean he was going mad. Tom had set him straight on that score, however, sharing when he'd visited that talking to Sybil had gotten him through his darkest days. It was advice Charles had also received from Mary, so he figured he'd do well to take it. He assumed they'd tag-teamed him, but he truly appreciated their caring.

"I made some eggs this morning, love. I forgot and made four instead of two, but I suppose I can have the extras tomorrow. Still can't get the tea quite the way you did."

"That blasted toaster, Elsie! I never thought I'd say it, but I think I preferred the one that _didn't_ pop up on its own. Honestly!"

After uttering _that_ admission, a rather imposing-looking robin, brown- and white-feathered except for the dark red that framed the face, swooped down onto the windowsill. It stared through the pane at him as he stood by the sink, and it appeared for all the world as though it were cocking its head at him, a universal _I told you so._

He chuckled and, for the first time in a week, he didn't _quite_ feel like he was drowning.

 _ **Each night and day I pray**_

 _ **In hope that I might find you,**_

 _ **In hope that I might find you,**_

 _ **Because hearts can do no more**_

 _ **Can do no more …**_

The months wore on, and Charles settled into a routine: wake, breakfast, bathe, dress. Walk if the weather allowed, luncheon, reading, cleaning. Dinner, drink by the fireplace, bed. Repeat.

When the summer turned too hot for walking, he decided it was time to begin getting his affairs in order. He had things to go through while he still had the energy, and financial decisions that needed to be made while he was still sharp enough to make them. He scheduled a meeting with his solicitor, then headed to the study to begin sorting through their possessions.

It was, of course, a more time-consuming job than even Charles had imagined. He knew what _things_ there were that needed his attention but, for some reason, he'd not anticipated the extra time it would take to deal with the emotional impact.

He opened the new ledger he'd purchased in town last week and sat at the desk, where he'd laid the first stack of books from the shelves he and Elsie had filled over the years. The books that had no sentimental value went into a box marked "Library" and the rest were set aside. In the ledger he painstakingly recorded the titles of that set-aside pile, with brief notes about each. It took a great deal of time, and he forced himself to rest when his trembling hand made his writing difficult to read. By the end of the first afternoon, when he'd gotten through the first third of their collection, he felt rather accomplished, indeed.

 _ **I need to know you,**_

 _ **Need to feel my arms around you,**_

 _ **Feel my arms around you,**_

 _ **Like a sea around a shore ...**_

Three days later he was done with the books. He moved on to Elsie's clothing, a task with which he'd requested Isobel's help.

 _Bless her,_ he thought, _almost my age but with all that energy!_

Isobel had spent the last three years volunteering at a women's shelter in Ripon. Richard drove her in twice a week and she worked as a sort of counselor, an expansion in a way of that job she'd done years ago with the … well, _those_ women. But, Charles had to admit, she did bring a great deal of goodness to many people's lives, and he knew Elsie would be happy with the idea of donating some of her things to help.

The afternoon went along smoothly until, suddenly, Charles hit an enormous snag that was buried in the deepest recesses of the wardrobe. Isobel had reached in, pulled out a zippered bag, and tossed it onto the bed.

"I almost missed this one! Whatever could- " she began, but she stopped suddenly when she saw the look on Charles's face.

"Oh, my … I'd forgotten that was in there," he murmured.

Charles reached to unzip the bag which contained – _of course, how silly of me,_ Isobel thought – Elsie's wedding dress.

He moved the sides of the bag away and reached out to run his fingers over the embroidery, painstakingly done by Phyllis Molesley so many years ago. He sat heavily on the bed and lifted the fabric half out of the bag, caressing it gently as he spoke.

"I remember holding you in my arms as we danced," he murmured. "I can still hear the sound of the fabric as it swished around your legs … the feel of the buttons under my fingers …"

A laugh escaped his lips, a slight flush to his cheeks as he realized he'd been speaking aloud once again. He looked up to Isobel, grateful for the sweet compassion on her face.

"I remember she didn't have a corset on under this! It was the first day, I think, that she'd decided to go without it. It shocked me, I can tell you!"

"Yes," she smiled, "I imagine it did. A welcome surprise, though, no doubt?" She raised an eyebrow at him, and he nodded.

"Yes," he echoed. "Well, we had a lifetime to make up for, as I know _you_ understand."

She said nothing, but took a moment to be thankful that, despite the sadness at the end of it, her best friends had managed to have such a full, loving, and passionate marriage. Their love had been evident in all their words and actions, a true blessing given how long it had taken them to finally make their way to one another.

 _Much like Richard and me,_ she thought, reflecting on her own marriage. _And I thank God for it every day._

 _ **How can I tell you**_

 _ **That I love you?**_

 _ **I love you**_

 _ **But I can't think of right words to say ...**_

Several weeks after getting all of his affairs in order, Charles's health began to fail. He was struggling more and more to complete simple tasks, but his pride prevented him from asking for help. Brenna was visiting twice a week, however, and commented on the change in her beloved Granddad one quiet Tuesday afternoon.

"Granddad, what can I do to help you? Please tell me," she asked, concern deep in her voice.

But he just shook his head. "I'll be fine, my dear. I'm just slowing down. I'll admit that I'm at loose ends some days, but I can still manage on my own."

He looked at the swell of her abdomen and smiled softly. " _I_ should be worrying about _you,_ you know. How are you feeling?"

"Truthfully? Enormous. And over two months still to go. Mama tells me she was the same, and I know it's perfectly normal." She absentmindedly rubbed her belly, adding, "I wish Granny were here. She never got the chance to know she'd have a great-granddaughter."

"Oh, so it's a wee lass, is it?" Charles asked, his eyes crinkling as he smiled at her.

"I think so," she nodded. "I had this dream, Granddad … it was so _strange_. I was outside in some sort of field, and then I looked down and realized I was holding a baby - a girl, swaddled in pale pink - and I was singing to her. I can't explain it, but I've never felt such ... _peace."_

"Well," he whispered, "perhaps you're right. What was it you were singing - did you recognize it?" he asked, though he was certain he already knew the answer.

"Oh, yes," she answered instantly. "And so would you. It was Granny's lullaby, of course."

"I thought as much. She's watching over you, you know."

"I _do_ know. She's watching over you, too, I think," Brenna answered, rising from her chair and placing a kiss to his temple.

"Yes … I can feel her here, every day. I am sure that makes me sound like some senile old man," he said.

"Not at all," she answered, patting his shoulder. "I'd expect nothing less, Granddad. I think she's keeping watch over all of us, but perhaps you most of all. She must miss you terribly."

She paused, then added in a tearful whisper, "I just hope she can be a little more patient."

 _ **I long to tell you**_

 _ **That I'm always thinking of you**_

 _ **I'm always thinking of you ...**_

Charles passed away peacefully at his home, surrounded by friends and family, eight months to the day after he had buried his beloved wife. He was 89 years old.

Charles had secured a box for John Bates at his solicitor's office, which was released immediately following his death. In it were various account books, with details about how he and Elsie had intended for their money to be divided. There was also a copy of his will, to which he'd added a name only three weeks prior: _Elisabeth Margaret Crawley._ The box had also contained several envelopes and packages which bore the following names: Anna, Beryl, Daisy, Isobel, Brenna, Jack, Sybbie, Mary, Edith. Assembling these had been the last task to which Charles had attended, and the shaky script in which each name was written gave tribute to the difficulty he'd had in completing it.

John looked at his extended family and closest friends as they stood in the churchyard, readying themselves to accompany the casket into the chapel. The early afternoon sun glinted off his silver hair and he leaned a bit more heavily on his cane, grateful to have a task to carry out; it was the only thing preventing his grief from overtaking him completely.

"According to the information I received from the solicitor," he said in his soft voice, "you are not to open them until we are all gathered at his office next week, per Charles's request."

"Of course," Mary said softly, unconscious of the tears on her face. "Whatever he wanted … of course."

* * *

 ** _TBC - one last chapter to go.  
_**

 ***The lines Anna read aloud are from the poem " _Comfort," by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. The word "gums" is questionable at best, but is the word used in all versions of the poem I have seen. I think it's "gems," as does another reader. Sorry if it was weird!_**

 ** _Please leave a little review if you are so inclined. x_**


	16. Simply Meant to Be

**A/N: Thanks to batwings79 for the prompt of sorts that inspired this weirdness. It stemmed from a funny little chat we had, and blossomed into ... well, THIS. Pardon my reincarnation/spiritual tendencies that shine through; if that's not your thing, I'm sorry.**

 **So this is part Crack!fic, maybe (hopefully) part sweetness, and a bit of a balm in humble apology for the previous two chapters. It was going to stand alone, but links nicely to the previous chapter as well as the next one - which will, in the main story, truly be the last.**

 **Not beta'd, so forgive any errors you may find, and the song choice is odd, and you'll find it at the end.**

 **Thank you all for your kind words and support. Much love!**

 **xx**

 **CSotA**

* * *

The first thing Charles was aware of was his complete and utter confusion. He was supposed to be meeting Elsie, he knew that, but couldn't remember _where,_ exactly, she said she'd be waiting.

There were people _everywhere,_ and all seemed to be in varied states of agitation. There were children huddled together on his left, speaking in tongues he didn't understand; for some reason, the sight of them broke his heart. In front of him were a young couple who looked to be about the ages of his grandchildren. There was gentleman behind him who seemed roughly Charles's age, and was wearing the biggest smile on his face. As Charles scanned the enormous crowd, he realized that the man behind him was perhaps the only one _not_ confused or upset.

"Excuse me," he ventured, "but can you tell me what, precisely, is happening here? I'm to be meeting my wife but I can't figure out where to _find_ her. Are there signs or something to which you could direct me?"

But the old gentleman said nothing, merely smiled and gave a brief nod, as if in greeting.

 _Thank you, that was immensely helpful,_ Charles thought sarcastically. He heaved a deep sigh, then turned back around to once again look for Elsie. She was so small, though, that he knew he'd have trouble spotting her amongst the masses.

"Charlie!" he heard suddenly, and he turned quickly to his right even though he didn't really recognize the voice. He noticed a woman of perhaps seventy years old reach her arms out and welcome the embrace of a man who was undoubtedly her son. "Oh, it's so good to see you!" she exclaimed.

The younger man placed a kiss to her cheek, then slung his arm around her shoulders and led her away. "I missed you so much, Ma. Do you think I'll be able to join you?"

"Of course, darling, it's all been sorted. Just come with me."

Charles furrowed his brow. _American? But, how ...?_

"The line is over here, everyone!" came a big, booming voice. "New arrivals, listen up! This is _not_ working - you _cannot_ make a mob-like crowd and expect to _go_ anywhere! Come on, queue up under the light!"

Charles heard the voice and looked ahead, where he saw a huge blinking light hanging from - well, he couldn't see _where_ it was attached, exactly, but it had most definitely _not_ been there sixty seconds ago. He was insanely confused by this point, but queued up as directed. People could say what they would about Charles Carson, but one thing on which they'd _all_ agree was his vehement adherence to rules and direction.

The line was long and afforded him some time to reflect. He missed his family, and couldn't quite remember where they were. Hell, he didn't really know where _he_ was, although if he'd bothered to look down at what he was standing on he'd have surely figured it out - those weren't cobblestones, after all. There were only two things he knew for certain: he was a bit peckish, and Elsie was supposed to be waiting for him. He wasn't even sure exactly _how_ he knew _that._

He shuffled forward as the queue began to move, and reached his hand up to straighten his coat. As he did so, a gasp escaped his lips; his hand, which had been trembling for years now, was perfectly still, his dexterity excellent as he checked his buttons, his grasp strong.

 _What on Earth …?_

"Excuse me. You seem confused, may I be of assistance?"

Charles looked to his right, from where the sweet, faintly familiar voice had come, and received perhaps the greatest shock of his entire … well, _life._

" _Lady Sybil?"_ he gasped.

She smiled widely and nodded. "It is so wonderful to see you again, Carson."

"But … I … I don't understand," he stammered.

"Oh, Carson," she said softly. "You poor thing - you don't know where you are, do you?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't, Milady."

"Here … this will help."

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, and he calmed instantly. At the feel of her touch, suddenly _everything_ was crystal clear.

"Ahh, yes, of course. Thank you, Milady," he said, smiling, _"Thank you. Now_ I know."

"I knew you'd get there in the end," Sybil teased. "You always were on top of things, Carson," she added with a wink.

 _Lady Sybil winked! At me! This is madness …_

"Come with me. I think I can sneak you through this a bit faster."

She took his hand in hers, which caused him to bluster a bit.

"Carson, please … none of that _._ We're all the same _here._ And, speaking of that, I'm going to have to insist that you call me Sybil. Just Sybil, alright? I know you've already made that leap with the rest of the family, so it should be no trouble."

He felt the squeeze of her hand on his as he nodded. "As you wish, but it means you'll need to call me Charles."

 _Actually,_ he thought _,_ _it wasn't a comfortable leap then, either, but I am not sure that's a choice I have any longer._ Then Sybil smiled at him, and he wondered if she could _read_ those thoughts of his; he blushed furiously and coughed in a vain attempt to cover his embarassment, then ventured a question _._

"Now, La- _Sybil,_ how can you possibly get me through this line any faster? Surely we're all meant to wait our turn?"

She laughed, a sweet, slightly-twinkling sound that he didn't realized he'd missed so much until he heard it again.

"Yes, but some strings have been pulled in _your_ case." She leaned in and added in a whisper, "Someone has been a bit … _impatient,_ I'm afraid. I was sent to fetch you and hasten your arrival."

His eyes widened with hope. "So you know where she is?" he asked. "She said she'd be waiting."

"Oh, yes," she nodded, a smile still bright on her face. "I am sure _everyone_ knows where _she_ is! You'll find her just through the gate. She's been waiting there for months, turning out every morning and heading home again only after dark." She leaned in to whisper once again. "She's rather _miffed,_ I believe is the word, that you've taken so long to come, because she didn't know _why."_

His laugh bellowed out over the crowd. "I'm sure she is, indeed! But I had things that needed attending ... surely she knew that I would? I mean, that is to say, _you_ seem to know?"

Sybil frowned. "Well, perhaps she doesn't know all of it, anyhow."

"But you do?" he asked again, trying to alleviate some of his confusion, and she nodded.

"Yes, but that's because I have ... well, one thing at a time," Sybil answered. "Let's get you through first."

The gates were even bigger than Charles had imagined. They were made of polished, glistening gold. A check-in desk was visible just to the left, making him feel as though he was at some sort of ridiculously posh hotel.

"Charles Carson, Downton Village, England, 1945?" The man behind the desk was quite large, broad-chested, and jovial; Charles's brain immediately identified him as a _jolly giant,_ straight out of a Dickens novel.

"Yes, sir." He stood tall and proud, attempting to pass muster in order to pass through the gate.

"Excellent!" the man exclaimed, checking something off of his list with a flourish. "Thank you, Sybil, for finding him so swiftly," he added under his breath, and Sybil nodded her head and smiled.

"It was my pleasure," she answered. She turned to Charles and stood on her tiptoes to place a kiss to his cheek. "I'll be seeing you soon, I imagine," she said. "And when you want to See," she added mysteriously, "just call out my name."

He wanted to ask what she meant but, before he could, he saw her practically glide away, the throngs of people quickly surrounding her once again. He thought it curious how they all seemed to part to let her pass; surely, in normal circumstances ( _in a normal place,_ he thought), that would never have happened on its own.

 _And it certainly isn't **normal**_ _here,_ he said. _It's st_ _range, but … peaceful. Although I'm not quite_ _ **in**_ _yet, I suppose. I wonder what happens now ..._

He was about to turn and ask further instruction, but the gatekeeper leaned down and interrupted his thoughts, speaking in a soft-yet-rumbling voice. "Have no fear, Charles. Your life has been honourable and dedicated to serving, teaching, and loving others; you are _more_ than worthy to pass through this gate."

With that, the gate swung open, and the man smiled and pointed at something - some _one_ \- in the distance. "And I believe _that_ lovely lass might tear me limb from limb if I did not allow that very thing to happen in the next sixty or so seconds."

Charles allowed his eyes to wander in the indicated direction of the man's finger, and his heart _sang._

"Elsie," he whispered. "Oh, thank God."

"Charles!"

She ran to him and he opened his arms, sweeping her up and spinning her around and not sparing a moment to even wonder how, physically, he was capable of doing that.

"Oh, my God, Elsie - I've missed you, love." He stopped spinning and put her down, then bent and kissed her passionately, his hands running through her tresses as his heart continued to soar; she returned his kiss with a power he'd not felt in years. There was something behind it, something inherently _whole_ between them that had never been there before. He was still trying to grasp what it was when he felt her break away and slap him on the chest - _hard._

"Charles Carson! What _took_ you so long?" she demanded, breathless from their kiss.

He looked at her in astonishment as she backed further away, folded her arms across her chest, and tapped her foot; he noted there were gusts of wispy air puffing up with each tap as she awaited his reply.

"Erm," he stumbled, "I'm … sorry?"

"I should say so," she said, her eyebrow arched. "I _told_ you I'd be waiting, tried to let you know so many times. Where were you?"

The foot was tapping madly, and it was driving him to distraction.

"Elsie, love," he began, taking a tentative step forward, his hands extended as if warding off a fearsome animal … _like a dragon,_ he thought inanely.

"Yes?" Her lips were now pursed ... not a good sign, her husband knew.

"I had things to which I needed to attend. The children … the grandchildren," he pleaded. "I wanted to join you immediately, of course, but …" His voice trailed off, the futility of his words sinking in. "I wasn't ready, really."

"Surely you spotted the bird?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Yes, I remember that," he smirked. "Quite cheeky, he was."

She sighed frustratedly. "I thought surely you were ready then."

He moved forward and grasped her hands. "Well, I thought I _was_. But there were things that happened, after …Wait a minute."

He looked around, _really_ looked at where he was. _Clouds, people, gate, wife. Yes, this_ _ **is**_ _where I've ended up. I didn't dream that bit with Sybil. So shouldn't Elsie_ _ **know**_ _all the answers to her questions?_

"Elsie, do you truly not know what I was up to _all_ that time? Because I thought … well, I just presumed ..."

She rolled her eyes - _literally rolled her eyes at him!_ He couldn't believe it!

"No, you daft man." He heard a softer note to her voice, and hoped he was making some progress at sorting this all out.

"I know a good deal," she amended quickly, "but not everything. When I'm with Sybil, of course, it's so much clearer. But I'm not - well, you know - _Him._ Clearly. So while we all know _more,_ we don't know everything. Does that make sense?"

Charles cocked his head, the mystery of Sybil not quite clear in his mind yet.

"Alright," he said, swallowing down a most sarcastic and teasing response addressing the idea that his wife didn't know _everything._ "Well, then, before you get cross again with me for waiting so long, perhaps you should think of whose fault it might be that I was delayed?"

"Ah, well then … erm, yes."

Elsie cast her eyes downward, stopped the tapping, and muttered, "Still, though. There must have been a directive of sorts _._ Something that overrode my _own_ requests … the ones I made _every week,_ mind you. Not that I wished you to die some _horrid_ death, or to _suffer_ , or ..."

"I know that," he reassured her as he reached out to clasp her hand. "But I needed more time. And it appears I was granted it."

She furrowed her brow, trying to figure it out. "Why?"

"Brenna," he said softly. "She asked for - well," he chuckled, "she asked for you to be more _patient_. Because of the baby."

"Oh. Well, then ..." She nodded slowly, in acceptance at last.

Charles shook his head and smiled. "I believe that it is _my_ turn to ask a few questions, Els. Starting with this." He held his hands out - his untrembling, younger-looking, hands. "My hands … How …?"

"Oh, Charlie," she said, reaching her hand up and cupping his cheek. "There's no illness here, love. Look at me - I mean, _look_ at me."

He did, and he wondered how he hadn't noticed it immediately. She stood before him as she had years ago, the epitome of health and strength. He started at the top of her head and worked his way down: lovely, thick, dark auburn hair, streaked with gray but hardly the white he remembered, now cascading down her chest and back in loose curls, no longer bound up in plaits and twists; fine lines on her face, from years of soft smiles and evenings of concentrating on ledger sums, rather than deep-set creases from illness and worry; full, rosy lips; strong body, filled out with muscle and appealing curves; her hands, soft and beautiful; and, finally, back to her eyes - his favourite thing, the bit he'd purposely saved for last - brilliantly blue and sparkling with no small amount of mischief.

"My word, Elsie. You look … _stunning."_

She smiled. "Thank you, love. As do you, I can assure you."

"Why?" He felt foolish, asking the same question a dozen times, but there was just _so much_ that he didn't know.

"I am not entirely sure," she admitted, "but I think that, once we get _here,_ we're our best selves. And we get to be that way ... well, _forever."_

"Alright," he accepted, holding out his arms again. "Then come here, my love. Because I find that you've been missing from my arms for _far_ too long."

She laughed and shook her head, but complied. After a moment she lifted her head and placed a kiss over his heart, igniting a faintly bittersweet memory somewhere in his mind; however, before he could grasp it, it was gone.

"Charlie?" she asked. "Would you like to see our new home?"

He hadn't even considered anything beyond the present moments in which he found himself, but found he'd like very, very much to see where they were to live in this new … place. "Of course. Is it far?"

"No, not at all. Second cloud to the right," she said, pointing off into the distance. "You'll know it when we reach it."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

* * *

 _ **Later that night ...**_

"Elsie," he asked softly into the twilight, his hand caressing her bare back. "What did Sybil mean, when she told me that if I wanted to _See_ I had only to call her name?"

He felt his wife's cheek rise as she smiled against his chest. "Oh, but it's the most wonderful gift," she marveled, "and few possess it here from what I gather."

"Gift?"

She sat up against the cushioned headboard of their enormous bed and reached her hand out to gently finger the hair on his temple as she explained.

"Some people, when they arrive here, are gifted with the most extraordinary things. Talents, I suppose you'd call them. I have no idea what all of them even _are,_ I am sure, because so many people end up returning after a time to begin the next phase of their … existence. But some, like Sybil, are so pure of spirit when they arrive that they are entrusted with certain abilities, certain _tasks."_

Charles hummed his understanding as he snuggled in more closely, one arm underneath the pillow as the other was loosely wrapped around his wife's waist.

"Hers is the gift of Sight. Simply put, she can assist others who wish to visit or look upon the loved ones they've left behind."

"I gather you've experienced this quite often, love?" he asked, eyebrow raised, and she giggled - a most unusual sound for her in their previous time together, but not one which bothered her husband in the slightest _._ He added it to the mental list of things that would be different from now on … things to which he was very much looking forward, indeed.

"Not as often as I'd have liked, but some. The first time was when I sent the bird," she said. "That is the gift we are _all_ given when we arrive - you'll have it, too," she added softly. "The ability to send things to our loved ones, signs that we are with them and lending them strength when they need it most." She looked thoughtfully toward the window, through which faint light was streaming.

"I could hear you, you know. I don't think that's the case for everyone, or perhaps their loved ones don't bother trying to speak, but whenever you would speak to me, my heart could always hear you. It's why I expected you sooner; you seemed … well, lost."

He looked up at her, a sadness in his eyes. "I was," he said simply. "I was so incredibly lost without you, Elsie. But then I realized that I had things to attend to. And then Brenna - well, you know about _that."_

"Yes," she smiled, "a lovely wee bairn. And I should have known then, should have known that of course you wouldn't want to leave without meeting her. But I was selfish, Charlie. And I allowed it to get the better of me," she added sheepishly.

"I understand - I am sure I'd have been the same. But I had to be sure everything would be well, that they'd be taken care of. _I_ had to be there, because _you_ could not. She is your namesake, of course, as Brenna always claimed would be the case. Did you know that? A way to tie her to you forever."

Elsie raised her eyebrows and smiled brilliantly, giving her husband pause.

"What is it?" he enquired.

"That little babe, darling little Elisabeth … she's tied to me in another way, as well."

"I don't understand," he said.

She looked at him, and waited, willing him to remember on his own.

And he thought back to all of the things she'd shared with him and, finally, he remembered. He remembered how she'd told him that not everyone remained in this glorious place, how some would choose to return, and then, suddenly, he just _knew._

"Becky," he asked in a whisper, and Elsie nodded.

"Yes."

"I was always sad that I'd never be able to meet her," he said softly, reaching for Elsie's hand and kissing her palm. "But now, I suppose that I _have._ "

"And what did you think?" she asked openly. "I could send thoughts and signs and feelings, but I could not _be there,_ not in the way you were. What did you think of my darling Becky, bright spirit that she always was?"

He closed his eyes and thought back to that day when Elisabeth had been born, how it had been a peaceful delivery for Brenna, with George and Anna by her side, and how - hours later - a beautiful, tiny bundle had been gently placed in Charles's arms.

"She was beautiful," he said, his rumbling voice tinged with awe. "With rich, dark hair like her mother's. Wide, bright eyes. She's perfect, Elsie. Absolutely perfect."

And then he let his thoughts wander, and muttered something under his breath.

"What was that, love?" Elsie asked.

He smiled and shook his head. "Who ever would have thought? All those years we wished we could be a _true_ family, find a way to connect us in a more permanent way than just through our thoughts and deeds, our actions and our love. And Becky, the one person who knew none of us at all save for you, managed to do just that?"

"And you left them the letters, Charles, didn't you? You didn't forget?" she asked.

"I did not forget," he said, dropping a sweet kiss to her forehead as she drifted off to sleep. "And, one day, perhaps Elisabeth will understand. Perhaps, when she is older, she may even _remember."_

* * *

 ** _Five years later ..._**

It was late, and Charles woke as if from a dream. But it wasn't a dream, he knew, as he registered Elsie's familiar warmth beside him, her skin warm on his own as she curled up in his arms, snoring softly after their rather amorous day - the fourth in a row, he thought happily, and he was ever so thankful for them all. It had been a new experience, their intimacy in this new place, a way in which their very spirits could blend and become one in a way they'd always striven for before but never quite managed to achieve. It was his favorite thing, he thought, this newfound closeness that they shared that surpassed all rational understanding.

Time was so hard to keep track of now, but it mattered not. They had friends, both from their old lives and this new one, but Charles and Elsie often just preferred to enjoy one another's company at home, whether curled up in their bed or sitting outside and looking at the stars, stars which - of course - were so much more glorious here.

Charles leaned back a bit to place a kiss to his beloved's hair, relishing once again the smell that was, simply, _his Elsie._ He tightened his arms around her and she shifted in her sleep. She rolled slightly onto her side and stretched her arm around his waist, squeezing it gently as she slumbered. He tucked her head underneath his chin and nodded off again, complete happiness cascading over him; he knew that it was the beginning of a wonderful, miraculous time, for he would never be alone again.

"Charlie?" she mumbled some time later. "Is it raining?"

"Hm? Um, yes, I believe so."

"Good," she whispered contentedly, placing a kiss to his lips.

"Why?"

"The water, Charlie. You know ... always."

He smiled sweetly at her, giving her one more kiss. "Of course. It's that day, isn't it?" he asked, and she smiled and nodded.

Minutes later, both were blissfully asleep once again, the sound of soft rainfall sounding somewhere in the distance.

 ** _My dearest friend,_**

 ** _If you don't mind_**

 ** _I'd like to join you by your side_**

 ** _Where we could gaze into the stars_**

 ** _And sit together now and forever_**

 ** _For it is plain as anyone could see_**

 ** _We're simply meant to be._**

* * *

 ** _Song choice is from the very last scene of "The Nightmare Before Christmas." The clip is on You Tube under the following title: JACK AND SALLY: Simply Meant to Be. My thanks to brenna-louise for putting that little idea in my head because it is, truly, perfect Chelsie. xx_**


	17. The Songbird

**A/N: Well, folks, this is it. Pardon the hella long author's note.**

 **Undying gratitude to brenna-louise and silhouettedswallow, who have spent many hours beta'ing not only this fic but also "Music of the Heart" as I made final revisions to it. It's been an almost year-long journey of about 30 chapters to bring this Chelsie story to a close, and I couldn't have done it without them. I also couldn't have done it without YOU - SHOUT OUT TO THE REVIEWERS! This is not my most heavily-reviewed fic, and those reviews you all DID leave have kept it in existence and ensured that I saw it through to the end.**

 **This chapter refers HEAVILY to "Music of the Heart," as well as the previous chapter of this story. It was emotional for me to wrap it up in this way, and tears were shed, but I like to think things were taken care of as Elsie and Charles would have wanted. There will be a couple of one-shot companion stories to revisit this Chelsie world, but this is truly the last "real" chapter.**

 **The two songs you'll find herein have been added to the "Music of Our Lives" Spotify playlist. Username is me, chelsiesouloftheabbey. You can download Spotify for free to listen to any of my fic playlists.**

 **Similarly to the S6 CS, this chapter doesn't quite tie everything up in a nice, neat little package, but it does give a good idea of where everyone will end up. My apologies if it's not what you expected.**

 **Thank you for being on this journey with me. For my "After the Fall" followers, I will now be able to spend more time on THAT fic. :)**

 **Please leave one final review and let me know what you thought.**

 **Blessings,**

 **CSotA**

 _ **So when my life is over**_

 _ **Don't carry me away,**_

 _ **For I've spent my whole life traveling**_

 _ **And it's here I want to stay.**_

 _ **Just open up the earth**_

 _ **And lay my body down below**_

 _ **And sing a song of heaven,**_

 _ **A song to send me home ...**_

 _ **Brother Sun, "All I Want Is A Garden"**_

Two days after the funeral, a rather large group of friends and family gathered at the solicitor's office.

Anna and John led the way, hands clasped together and moving about slowly, John's limp having worsened with age. Lately he was feeling it more and more, particularly on days when the rains were coming in heavily. But Anna stood by him, strong and true, and supported him as she always had. Elsie's passing had knocked Anna down hard, but it was losing Charles which had almost done her husband in; he'd lost the best friend he'd ever had, save for Anna and, in some ways, Robert. But Charles had been a father figure as well, and Anna was grateful he'd had the foresight to put John in charge of the affairs of the Carson estate, as it gave her husband a way to feel a sense of purpose and to honor his beloved friend.

Brenna and Sybbie followed, with baby Elisabeth clutched in Brenna's arms and Mary right behind them, ready to take Elisabeth at a moment's notice should Brenna need a break. Elisabeth's birth had been a godsend to Mary, having come at a time when she was forced to face the devastating loss that Charles's passing would bring her. She'd practically dived head-first into helping Brenna and George at home, and Anna had stepped aside to allow it without argument. She and Mary had a closeness that had been forged through many difficult years, and Anna knew her friend well; Mary would never _ask_ for help, but she would accept it in the form of time spent caring for her only grandchild.

Next in the group came Edith, Beryl, and Daisy. Edith was rather puzzled as to why she was even there, touched by the fact that the Carsons would remember her fondly. She'd been living in London for most of their married lives, after all, and had seen them rather infrequently as her career simply hadn't allowed much time away. But she'd cared deeply for them both, particularly Mrs. Carson, and had been horribly saddened by their loss. She reached out and offered her elbow to Beryl, who took it gratefully as she struggled to maintain her balance on the slippery cobblestone walk.

"Thank you, dear," Beryl whispered, and Edith just nodded. With Edith on one side and Daisy holding Beryl's hand on the other, the ladies continued on in silence, each lost in thoughts of the formidable Charles Carson, and of what awaited them in his solicitor's office.

Beryl gave Daisy's hand an extra squeeze, and sent her a smile. Daisy simply nodded and focused her attentions on taking one step at a time; like the others in their group, Daisy had seen a great deal of loss over the course of her life. She'd been reflecting on that very thing, actually, of how they were a group of people whose lives had been sewn together over the years, connected by endless corridors and service, wars and loss, and - eventually - friendship. Daisy found herself wondering if others experienced the same in their lifetimes; but perhaps their group was unique, having been stitched together by the common thread that had been life at Downton Abbey.

Jack and Isobel brought up the rear of the group. Theirs was perhaps the strangest friendship of all, having been formed through their mutual affection for Elsie. Jack had always favored his Granny, had always been by her side through the years when he'd grown up and visited the cottage. Isobel was a frequent companion to Elsie during those times, and would assist in his care when he was a baby, playing with him and reading to him when Elsie would be occupied with preparing a meal or bringing in the wash from the line outside. As he'd grown, Jack had come to appreciate not only Isobel's innate kindness but also her forthright manner, which reminded him so very much of his Granny.

"How are you holding up?" Isobel asked Jack, and he looked at her sheepishly and shrugged.

"I'm about as well as I expected to be," he answered. "At least she's not waiting for him any longer."

Isobel looked at him curiously, and Jack smiled.

"Granddad always told me that Granny made him promise to look for her when he … well." He swallowed his emotion, and took a deep breath. "I imagine she's waited long enough to have him back."

"Yes," Isobel said, a sad smile playing about her lips. "She spent enough time in _this_ life waiting for him, I'm sure she didn't want to go through that all over again."

Jack thought about his fiery Granny, of her frequent impatience to have things happen. "No," he smirked, "I'm sure she did _not."_

"Isobel, how are you?" The solicitor, Mr. Anders, reached his hands out to grasp Isobel's in his own. "How is Richard?" The gentlemen had become friends over the years, following Mr. Murray's retirement and Mr. Anders having purchased his firm, and Isobel appreciated his kindness today.

"Fair to middling, I'm afraid, but that's about as well as I expected," she replied.

"Pneumonia is such a horrible thing, but I know he has the best nurse in town," he answered, and she smiled and nodded her thanks.

"Losing Charles was quite a blow on top of it," she allowed. "And we certainly don't have the benefit of youth on our side any longer."

Mr. Anders simply nodded, and indicated for her to pass through the door before him. He proceeded into the room last, then closed the door behind himself.

"Please, everyone, take a seat," he said to the group.

They were in a boardroom of sorts, with a massive walnut table in the center that was surrounded by large office chairs. Everyone took their seats and fished their envelopes and small packages out of bags and jacket pockets, laying them on the table once they did so.

"I appreciate you all coming today. I know the weather is terrible with all the rain, but time is of the essence regarding the transfer of the cottage and certain accounts. As you have all been mentioned by name in Mr. Carson's will, it was required that you be present today.

"Mr. Carson left a rather simple will, overall, given that many of the details are ironed out in the packages you've received. I'd like to begin by leaving you to yourselves to open those items, so that nothing will be too much of a shock once the other people mentioned in the will have joined us. It was Mr. Carson's wish that you have this time together first, and I am happy to abide by whatever it was that he saw fit."

He paused, and looked at each of the people seated around the table. "If you'll allow me, I'd like to share a personal observation." Everyone nodded, and he continued.

"Charles and Elsie Carson were an impressive couple in their own, unassuming way, and they loved one another with a strength that we should all hope to attain at some point in our own lives. In the time that I knew them, going on some twenty years now, I have been the keeper of a number of their secrets, most of which will be revealed to you today, as I believe the packages you all have in front of you contain a personal letter from one or both of them. I can say with some measure of certainty, having been a solicitor for many years now, that few people spend as much time discussing how to divide their legacy as the Carsons did. It is clear that they cared deeply for all of you, and that the drastically different positions you all once held - as servants of Lord Grantham or as members of his family - are far removed from the sentiment contained within this document," he said, holding up the will, "or the items which now rest in your hands."

"A most accurate observation, Mr. Anders," Mary said softly, and the others around the table nodded. "They certainly did touch the lives of everyone seated at this table - and a good many more, I can assure you."

Beryl wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, already feeling as though she wouldn't make it through the entire afternoon, and Daisy reached over to squeeze her hand.

"It's alright," she whispered, and Beryl nodded.

"I'll leave you some time to go through what you have brought and to discuss those things with one another if you'd like. I'll return in half an hour, if that's agreeable, and will have with me at that time representatives from the library, hospital, and museum, as those organizations are also mentioned in the will."

With that he rose from his chair and made his way to his private office and whispers erupted around the table, couples and groups of three chatting amongst themselves; but, after a few moments, things quieted again, and only the sound of paper and tape being gently torn open could be heard in the large room.

Edith was the first to examine the contents of the package she received, and she gasped audibly. She scanned the contents of her letter, then abruptly rose from her seat and moved swiftly to the window in order to gather her thoughts. She was simply in awe of what Elsie and Charles had left in her care.

"Edith?"

Isobel had noticed the woman's discomfort and approached her slowly, comforted to see Edith turn slightly and nod in her direction, silent acceptance of Isobel's desire to speak to her.

"Here," she murmured, thrusting the letter toward Isobel. "Read it. I just … I can't believe it."

Isobel perused the letter, which she'd assumed had come from Elsie but which had, in fact, been penned by Charles. She glanced at the other item in Edith's hand, then back to the words on the paper she now held, a smile lighting up her face as she read it.

"Of course they did," she murmured, then turned her eyes once again to Edith. "Oh, my dear, look around you." She indicated the others in the room with a sweep of her hand. "Who else here would appreciate this as much as you will?"

"I know, but … look," she said, holding out the ledger she held.

Isobel pried open the cover and scanned the book titles that had been painstakingly recorded within. "Oh, my," she whispered, noting first editions of several volumes of poetry, three novels, and two books of nonfiction surrounding the history of Yorkshire and London.

"I don't feel as though I deserve anything from them, really. Elsie and I often discussed books when I was growing up, but I never thought those conversations would have made them think of me now."

Isobel looked at Edith and shook her head. "Oh, Edith," she said. "Don't you see? Throughout the entire first half of your life, you lived in the shadow of your sisters, always behind the scenes - observing, studying, reading, seeing value in what no one else did. You were never focused on the estate or the material things valued by Mary, and you always stayed grounded in reality while Sybil was idealistic and progressive."

"I suppose so," Edith allowed.

"And look what it's gotten you, my dear! A career, a publication that you own and run admirably, a seat on the board of directors for the library, and a daughter who is steadfastly forging her own way in life. They meant to recognize that, Edith, and leaving you all of these," she said, holding up the ledger, "is their way of acknowledging that inherent part of you, that part that values things that others might not. You are so much like them in that way."

Edith sniffed. "I suppose I never saw it that way," she answered, her voice thick with emotion. "You're right, of course. You know, as a child, we'd all steal downstairs to sneak a biscuit or to seek advice. Me perhaps more than the others, although Mary probably thinks it was her. They always listened, valued what I had to say, even, and guided me in ways that even my own parents didn't dare."

"Well, there you are," Isobel said softly, squeezing Edith's arm and returning to her seat, leaving the younger woman some more time alone to gather her thoughts ...

At the other end of the table from where Edith had been sitting, Anna and John were leaning into one another, Anna holding the letter from Elsie that they'd just opened. Anna was trying valiantly, but failing miserably, to stop her tears from falling onto the paper and smudging the ink. She was shaking her head in disbelief as she read the words Elsie had written. For his part, John was attempting to scan the letter for the most basic details, without getting lost in the aspects which were clearly more personal sentiments meant mostly for Anna.

But when he got to the part mentioning a financial inheritance, John opened the bank statement booklet that Charles had placed in the package. He looked at the most recent entry and realized that this inheritance would allow them to pay off the remainder of the bank note for the inn, and he broke down and wept. John had spent the better part of his life striving to be a good and honest man, one who valued the benefits reaped from a hard day's work, and he and Anna truly loved running the Grantham Arms together. But lately he'd been feeling poorly, and had feared what would happen if he were, one day, unable to continue working. Charles and Elsie had swept away those fears with a stroke of a pen: the entirety of their liquid assets were now in the hands of John and Anna. John smiled as he thought of how the Carsons never lived as though they were moderately wealthy, and while he knew Elsie had somehow disposed of an old, dilapidated property in Scotland ages ago, he just assumed that was where the majority of their money had come from. Obviously he'd been so very, very wrong, realising now that their savings must have also been the result of extremely wise investing on Charles's part over the course of his lifetime.

"Oh, John, _look,_ " Anna whispered, pulling him from his musings. He turned his eyes back to his wife, and he saw the delicate pendant and chain that she was dangling from her fingers.

"It's a thistle," John mused, and Anna nodded.

"Charles gave this to her the morning they were married - I was there when she opened it. It was his mother's, according to the note she received - _this_ note," she clarified, handing a small piece paper to John.

He scanned the first line and then folded it up and handed it back to her.

"I can't, Anna," he said simply. "They were his words for his beloved on the brightest day of their lives. I just … I think they're meant only for _your_ eyes," he said, and she nodded her understanding.

"The pendant goes back three generations," Anna explained, "and I'm meant to pass it down to Brenna when I'm gone, so that it _stays_ in the family." She choked on the last word - _family_ \- and John put his arm around her and held her as she wept for the loss of the best parents she'd ever known ...

"Sybbie?" Mary asked, leaning over to where her niece was sitting. "Oh … oh, my goodness, would you look at that?" she marveled, watching Sybbie lift a book out of the box that she'd opened.

"I know," Sybbie whispered, opening the book. "That Christmas, the first one at their cottage, I'd gone over with Papa. We were the surprise for Elsie, do you remember?"

Mary nodded. "I do, and I remember helping your father pick out the book you're now holding. _A Visit from St. Nicholas_ … Carson would always sneak into the nursery and read it to us when we were children. I remember you were so excited that he had read it to _you_ all that night, too."

"Yes, and I'm sure it became their tradition with Brenna and Jack over the years as well. We had a copy at home when I was growing up, but this one will be so much dearer to me," Sybbie said, fingering the gilded edge of the pages.

"There's something else in there, Syb," Mary said, pointing to a small bundle wrapped carefully in tissue and tied with a secure knot.

Sybbie lifted it out and tugged on the bow, gasping when she saw what the tissue revealed.

"Of course," she said, pulling out a ceramic Christmas ornament of a dark-haired doll, the one that had lived on the Carsons' tree every year and had pride of place front and center, always. And still resting in the tissue was, of course, a hand-carved rabbit, the significance of which was not lost on Sybbie. She thought of the small book she kept tucked in the corner of her bookshelf, a sweet story about a stuffed animal who, through kindness and love from another, became _real_. It was all tied back to that first Christmas, to their mixed family, and to the memories passed around of her mother, the woman Sybbie had never met but whom she'd always felt was watching over her nonetheless.

She lifted the doll ornament up and held it by the ribbon, letting it spin around in the air. "Mama," she whispered.

Mary found she had no words to add and so she turned to her own package, which she'd steadfastly avoided opening up until that moment. She feared what it would contain, to be truthful. She had a relationship with Charles that had passed the understanding of many at the table, and she'd always been comfortable with that. But she had a feeling from the unsteady scrawl of her name on the tag that the box would contain something extraordinarily personal to him, and she was afraid.

"Go on, Aunt Mary," Sybbie encouraged her softly. "You'll have to do it eventually. Would you like some privacy?"

Mary shook her head. "No, actually, I think I'd prefer to have you here."

She opened the box and withdrew a letter, which she set aside. Reaching further in, she removed the intricately carved wooden box that she remembered delivering to Charles so many years ago, at the express request of her grandmother.

"Oh, it's lovely," Sybbie whispered. "Did he make it?"

"No," Mary said, sure about _that,_ at least.

Lifting the lid slowly, Mary noticed a note and a handkerchief contained within it. She removed the handkerchief, which she recognized from that long-ago evening, and examined the note, shocked to discover that this one wasn't written in Charles's hand, but rather in that of her _grandmother._

"What on Earth …?" She unfolded it and began to read it silently.

Within the letter was the entire story of Violet's connection to Charles, something which she had penned just prior to her death, after - according to the words on the paper - having obtained Charles's permission to do so. When she got to the bit that explained the box, hand-carved for Charles's mother but guarded for so many years by Violet, Mary's tears began to fall in earnest.

"Oh, my God," she whispered. "That certainly explains it all."

"The box?" Sybbie asked, confused.

But Mary only smiled. "I'm to pass it along to George one day, to keep it in the family," she explained, and she divulged no more.

Sybbie nodded and got up to allow her aunt some privacy, despite Mary's earlier claim that she didn't require it. Sybbie saw Mary reach for the other letter, the one that would undoubtedly be a personal missive from Charles, and decided to see how Jack was faring.

"Jack?" she asked softly, seeing the faraway look on his face. He turned and handed her something, and she let out a soft gasp. "Ohh … how lovely."

"It was his father's pocketwatch," he said, clearing his throat a couple of times. "Granddad wore it all the time - I used to play with the chain when I was little. It's one of my first memories ever, him standing there with the chain dangling from his waistcoat pocket.

"And then there's this - I'm not sure _why,_ what I've done to deserve it," he said, passing her a legal document. She unfolded it, her jaw dropping as she realized what it was.

"Their cottage," she gasped, and he nodded.

"It's mine," he said, smiling. "Granny insisted, she explains it all here."

Sybbie saw the letter in his hand, and nodded. "Of course. She loved you so very much, you know. You were the light of her life - and Brenna and Charles, of course, but everyone knew she had a soft spot for _you._ "

"I know, and I for her. But _this,_ this is too much. It should be going to my parents, or to Brenna and George …"

"No, I don't think so. They're established where they are, and happy. And I almost feel like this place _means_ more to you than it does to them. In any event, it was what they wanted."

He nodded, knowing she was right, and she handed the watch back to him. Just then, he caught his sister's gaze from across the table.

"Excuse me," he said, getting up from his seat, and Sybbie nodded.

"Of course."

Brenna reached out her hand, careful not to disturb Elisabeth, who was peacefully asleep in her arms, and her brother grasped it. "Jack, did you receive one like that, too?"

She motioned to the letter on the table in front of her, which was almost identical to the last item in Jack's envelope, and he nodded.

"Yes, I did," he said, taking a seat beside her.

"But -" she stared at him, speechless.

"I know. The trust. My God, Brenna, I had no idea they'd done that for us."

"Supposedly it's from money they'd lent Mama and Papa for the inn, but that can't be right. It's not possible that there would be so _much_. And there's one for Elisabeth, too," she added, shaking her head in wonder. "Granddad also left me a brooch that he had given to Granny on their first Christmas together … along with this," she said, holding up her right hand as she shifted her support of Elisabeth's weight.

Jack looked, and there - on the third finger of his sister's hand - lay his grandmother's wedding ring.

"It was Granddad's _mother's_ ring," she whispered. "I never knew that! He gave it to Granny, but when she died he wanted to pass it on to me." She stared at him, incredulous, still having trouble wrapping her mind around it all.

"Of course he'd have wanted you to have it," Jack said, kissing his sister sweetly on the cheek. "He adored you so very much. I rather like that we were close to Granny and Granddad in our own ways, that they loved us both but that each of us got to know a different one of _them_ a bit more deeply."

Brenna nodded. "I know. I'm _so_ glad that Granddad was able to meet Elisabeth, too. There were so many times I had the feeling he wasn't going to make it, that he just didn't have it in him. I prayed to God every night that he'd be there to hold her, just once. I feel like my prayers were answered."

"I'm sure they were." He looked down at his hands as he fiddled with the pocketwatch. "I feel them, you know," he said. "Every day, like they're right here with me."

"Me, too," Brenna said, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Just then, Elisabeth stirred in her sleep. She cooed and opened her eyes, then moved a bit and settled once again.

Brenna looked up to see eight pairs of eyes on her, all in various states of emotional turmoil.

"Well, then … I suppose life goes on," Beryl said, and Brenna smiled gratefully at her.

"Yes, it certainly does," she replied.

Several moments later, Daisy quietly opened a rather large package, and her gasp drew the attention of those seated nearest to her.

"I can't believe it," she uttered. "Oh, _William._ "

Sybbie smiled as Daisy lifted up yet another ornament that everyone recognized from the Carsons' collection - a toy soldier, spinning around on a fine, blue satin thread.

"And look," Daisy added to Beryl, showing her a scrapbook.

"What in Wonderland? … _Ohhh,"_ Beryl breathed, recognizing instantly what Daisy held in her hands. "Do _you_ know what that is?" she asked Daisy.

Inside the scrapbook were a collection of drawings, letters, and photographs, things taken throughout Becky's life. Beryl had helped Elsie organize them in the book over ten years ago, and hadn't really thought much about it since.

"I do," she nodded, "but _why?"_

Beryl was poking through the package Daisy had taken them from. "Perhaps this will explain it, love," she said, handing Daisy a letter.

Daisy opened it gingerly and began to read it softly, loud enough that only Beryl could hear her.

 _My Dearest Daisy,_

 _I sit and write this letter to you after much thought about what it is to contain. As this dastardly illness consumes me, it occurs to me that I need to take care of certain things before I am unable to do so. Simply put, I must decide with Charles who will inherit our most valued possessions and property when we are gone and, if you are reading this now, you are hopefully in possession of one of my most treasured things -_

"This must be one of the first letters she wrote," Daisy mused, and Beryl nodded as Daisy continued to read.

 _You are aware that I had a sister, Becky, who passed away suddenly many years ago, and I know you are also aware that Becky had certain characteristics which inhibited her quality of life._

 _What I am sure you do not know is that we grew up on a farm in Argyll, a harsh life for many families back then, and there was a good deal of strife and unhappiness in our childhood. I, like you, landed in service as a means of securing a warm and safe home in which to grow, with good meals on the table and the security that a regular paycheck would provide. You and I share a common bond in that way, one which not many others would ever be able to understand._

 _But Becky didn't have that opportunity, and - more to the point - she was clearly unable to attend school. I know that things are different now in some ways, different for children like Becky, and you, as a schoolteacher, are in a position to see that more than most. While I have other possessions that will go to Anna, Brenna, Sybbie, and Jack, it means a lot to me that Becky's things go to_ _you_ _in the hopes that they inspire you to always do all that you can for_ _all_ _the children who will appear in your schoolroom. It is my dream that, one day, even children like Becky will be able to learn and grown in an environment with fully-abled children._

 _You've always held a dear place in my heart, Daisy, and it has been such a joy to watch you grow and blossom into an intelligent, determined, kind woman. Please accept this gift, one of immeasurable value to me personally, and cherish it as I have always done._

 _Very fondly,_

 _Elsie_

"Well, then," Beryl said. "There you have it."

"Yes," Daisy whispered. "I had no idea, you know, of how she grew up … of how it was for her. She was always so kind to me, strict but always watching out for me. But she never said, did she? Never gave any indication that she'd come from … well, a home like mine."

"No, she didn't at that," Beryl said, patting Daisy's hand.

"Have you opened yours?" Daisy asked, and Beryl nodded.

"I have, but ... " She shook her head, fighting back tears.

"That's quite alright," Daisy said soothingly. "I don't need to know. Take your time." She got up from the table and dropped a kiss to the top of Beryl's head, then moved over to the others in order to leave Beryl some time to gather her thoughts.

Beryl opened the note from Elsie once again and glanced at what was inside of the large envelope she'd been left: several bundles of letters, tied with a variety of ribbons, which confused Beryl completely until she read Elsie's letter.

 _My Dearest Beryl,_

 _You have no idea how hard it is for me to write this letter to you, my dearest friend, the one person whom I've known longer than just about anyone except for my husband. I am entrusting this package and note to Charles, to pass along to you when the time is right._

 _You know that I have always valued our friendship immensely, and I think that we worked very well together once we got through those initial years. Charles and I often say that we never would have managed the Abbey half as well as we did through so many trials and tribulations if we'd not had you supporting us behind the scenes. And goodness knows that during the times when I needed you the most, when not even Charles could have helped me get through each day, you were there, offering everything you could spare and, sometimes, perhaps even more._

 _And, of course, through the passing of those years, Charles and I developed more than just a partnership; we danced around something stronger and more powerful than either of us had ever anticipated. And still you were there, silent and steadfast, gently pushing and prodding us toward one another. I couldn't see it then, when we were in the middle of it all, but I most certainly can see it now._

 _You have asked me so many times, in your sweet and sometimes forceful way, about the details of my marriage, of our relationship, and I teased you mercilessly about that, never wanting to divulge any information that I didn't think proper but, more importantly, holding on to the most personal of details for myself. What we never told you - what we've never told anyone - is that this entire relationship that Charles and I shared all began with the simple writing of a letter. One letter, during the Season, about the goings-on at the Abbey … and then a reply, and so it began. Over the years these letters changed somewhat; they began to include slightly personal lines and messages. They are now too numerous to count: Christmas notes, letters, gift tags, and more, all bundled together and showing a progression of love and affection over the course of decades. Added to a set of journals that each of us kept over the years, they provide quite a tale, indeed._

 _And now, as I face the inevitable in the not-so-distant future, I am tasked with finding a caretaker for these words, this written record of the development of my marriage, of the most important part of my life. This collection of letters and notes is my most prized possession, save (perhaps) for the book that Daisy shall be receiving. The letters began the year I became housekeeper, and you'll notice that they end with the onset of my illness. You may find it odd that we would continue to exchange notes even after we married, but we were loathe to give up the habit and would sometimes tuck a little note into a pocket or under a pillow, small reminders of how cherished we felt by one another._

 _As we sat rereading these over the past month, I found myself hating the idea that they would be cast aside, that they might seen as mere trivialities of our lives, something to be discarded quickly into the flames of the hearth when, clearly, they represent so much more than that … at least to me. It was almost equally horrifying to think they would end up being read by someone who did not see the intimate details of how our love unfolded, who might perhaps think it all foolishness. But you, my best friend and the one person to know Charles longer than anyone still living, will certainly appreciate them for what they are, and I am sure they will give you better insight into things you've often asked me about that I never answered. I realize, too, that it seems foolish to leave you any other material possessions of ours, given the proximity of our ages and the fact that you are well set in your own home and retirement, and so I hope that you will accept these, that you will be the new caretaker of this most personal aspect of our lives. If I may be so bold, the collection tells the story of two people who were always destined to be something more than friends and who finally made it to that ultimate goal, softly guided by the encouragement of one we hold so dear._

 _Perhaps, during a time of sadness, it will bring you some small amount of joy to step back into the past with us. Regardless, I would trust no one else to care for these as much as I know you will._

 _With all my love to you, my dearest friend. Enjoy the story._

 _Elsie_

"Well, here we are," Isobel said, taking her original seat again and interrupting Beryl's thoughts. She instantly realized the poor timing of her arrival, and apologized.

"No, it's alright," Beryl whispered, tucking the note away.

"I can't help but feel that you and I are the last holdouts, as it were, the last two remaining of the disappearing dynasty of Downton," Isobel said quietly.

Beryl chuckled, drying her eyes with a handkerchief she'd had tucked into her sleeve. "A dynasty, indeed," she said.

"Are you truly alright?" Isobel asked softly, and Beryl nodded.

"I am. They were my dearest friends; I'd known Charles most of our lives."

"Yes," Isobel said, smiling softly. "You know, I was surprised to be asked here today, to have been left anything at all. But when I opened it, and saw _this,"_ she said, "I understood."

Isobel had pulled something out of her handbag and laid it on the table, and Beryl sighed softly.

"Another one," she said cryptically, and Isobel furrowed her brow.

"I'm sorry?"

"That," she said, pointing to the pen. "From their first Christmas in the cottage, you gave it to Elsie. Sybbie has the book, I believe, and I saw some of their ornaments floating about. It's like we're being asked to relive that evening, in a way - those of us who are old enough to remember it, anyhow."

"I'd think it odd, but I am sure that Charles and Elsie intended it to be that way. I know that _I_ remember that night well," she said fondly.

"Yes, well, it's not every evening that one is proposed to," Beryl teased.

"True, but it wasn't only that. It was the sense of easy friendship, the forging of family ties and the level of comfort we all had by the end of the night. It was remarkable, and I don't believe anyone else but them could have pulled it off so marvelously." She picked up the pen and fiddled with it, rolled it back and forth a bit between her thumb and forefinger. "I can't help but think that they meant for all this to happen," she said, sweeping her hand to indicate everyone in the room. "I think that Charles purposely held back the items and notes from Elsie until he was gone, so that we would all come together one last time. It's a way to remember them, and to remember how our lives are all intertwined. Sybbie tells me there was a note for her father, as well, a rather long letter from Elsie. It's their way of reaching out to us."

Beryl looked at the pen, at the lovely flowers decorating the barrel, and was reminded of the stunning tea set that Elsie had given Phyllis Molesley the year Elsie retired.

"Forget-me-nots," she said softly, and Isobel nodded.

"Exactly. And we won't forget, will we? How they tied us all together."

Beryl reached out for the envelope containing the letters and clutched it to her chest.

"No, we certainly won't," she answered.

Thirty-five minutes later the solicitor returned, with three well-dressed businessmen accompanying him.

"Please be seated, gentlemen," he said, indicating the empty chairs at the table.

Elisabeth stirred, and Brenna got up and took her over to the window, shushing her gently and cuddling her in order to stave off the crying that was no doubt on its way.

Mr. Anders spent the next ten minutes reading through the Last Will and Testament of Charles Carson. In it was mentioned each and every item that the Carsons' family and friends had recently opened, and also references to specific funds set up at the bank for the museum, hospital, and library. There were instructions for the representatives in attendance as to how the funds were to be used: for education, medical research, and building improvement, respectively.

No one at the table was amazed by the monetary amounts mentioned, and no one was surprised that it would be Anna, John, Brenna, and Jack who would inherit the lion's share of the Carson estate. The only things that came as a shock to some were the mention of 'Elsie Carson's letters,' that were now in Beryl Patmore's loving care, and the notion of Lady Mary Crawley being bequeathed an wooden box and handkerchief. Those two women met one another's eyes across the table with a tiny smile and nod, each acknowledging that _their_ particular inheritances were, perhaps, the most valuable ones of all.

 _ **For you**_

 _ **There'll be no crying**_

' _ **Cause I feel that when I'm with you**_

 _ **It's alright …**_

 _ **And the songbirds keep singing**_

 _ **Like they know the score**_

 _ **And I love you, I love you, I love you**_

 _ **Like never before ...**_

 _ **Eva Cassidy, "Songbird"**_

 _ **Five years later**_

"Mummy, Mummy! Look!" Elisabeth squealed, running over to Brenna. "A grasshopper!"

The little girl opened her hands slowly, and a bright green grasshopper bounced out onto the grass and made a quick getaway.

"Oh, Elisabeth," Brenna said softly, running her hand over her little girl's soft, brown curls. "You must remember to be _gentle,_ love. You may watch them, but try not to pick them up, alright?"

Elisabeth nodded, then reached her hand toward the basket Brenna carried over her arm.

"May I have the flowers, Mummy?"

"You may certainly _help_ me, dear. Let's see if you can find them, shall we?"

Elisabeth flitted over to a now-familiar headstone, tracing the "B" with her tiny finger.

"B for Auntie Beryl," she said quietly, and Brenna nodded and handed her a single, white rose and two carnations. Elisabeth placed them gently in front of the stone, then bent to kiss the letter B.

"I love you, Auntie," she said quietly before getting up and moving two rows over. Brenna stayed back a bit, laying her hand on the stone and saying a silent prayer before joining her daughter.

"Here they are, Mummy." Elisabeth held her hand out, and Brenna squeezed it briefly before kneeling in front of this second stone, a bit larger and darker in color than the first. She set the basket on the ground by her daughter's feet, then reached over to brush the grass clippings off of the base of the marker.

"Hello Granny, Granddad," Brenna said softly. "I hope you've had a good week. We've had an _adventurous_ one, as I'm sure you have been able to see!" She sat back on her heels and sighed. "I miss you both so very much."

"They're angels now, Mummy. Papa said so," Elisabeth said. "Just like _his_ Papa." She laid the remainder of the flowers at the base of the stone - more white roses mixed in with carnations, and all from the gardens behind Jack's cottage.

"Your Papa is right," Brenna answered. She held her arms out and Elisabeth tucked herself in, ending up sitting on her Mummy's lap as Brenna held her tightly.

They stayed like that for a few silent moments, and then Brenna heard something that sent a chill down her spine … Her beautiful daughter, five years old last month, began to softly hum; the tune, of course, was painfully familiar.

"Elisabeth, love? Where did you hear that song?" Brenna demanded.

Her sweet girl looked up, eyes wide with the fear that she'd done something wrong. "Mummy?"

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry," Brenna said quickly, shaking her head. "It's quite _alright,_ only … where did you hear it?"

Elisabeth looked down at the grass, kicking at it with her toe. "It was Great-Granny's song, Mummy."

"Yes, it was, but how do _you_ know the tune, love? I haven't heard that since long before you were even born."

Elisabeth shrugged and stood up, moving over to the stone once again. "I'm not sure, Mummy. I just _do,_ " she said, and Brenna chose not to push the issue anymore.

They stayed about a half hour, spending that time cleaning up a bit more around Charles and Elsie's stone and watering the flowers at Matthew's, and just enjoying the quiet time they had together.

"Mummy, do you think Great-Granny and Great-Granddad can hear us?" Elisabeth asked suddenly. "When I pray, do you think they can hear me?"

Brenna smiled, then bent to receive a kiss from her darling girl. "I'm sure of it," she said.

"Good."

Brenna looked up at the sky, the clouds having come in faster than expected.

"Guess what?" she said to Elisabeth, who promptly examined the skies herself and nodded.

"Rain again!" she shouted gleefully, and Brenna shook her head.

"It _always_ rains when we're here," Brenna whispered, and she saw Elisabeth nod.

"Great-Granny loved the rain, didn't she? And the ocean," the girl said, and Brenna nodded slowly, remembering.

"She did, love. And do you know why?"

Brenna was prepared to tell her daughter all about Elsie's love for the water, about the day she'd taken Charles's hand at the beach as a silent offering of love, and about the lake near Jack's cottage that had always been their Granny's favorite spot. But none of the things she'd planned to mention were a match for what fell forth from her daughter's mouth.

"Because it meant a good crop," Elisabeth said, "and they wouldn't go hungry." She got up and fetched the basket for her mother. "Let's go, Mumma. We're going to get soaked!"

Brenna found she couldn't speak. She stared at her daughter, into her bright, blue eyes, and marveled at the intelligence she saw in them. She reached her hand out, and Elisabeth grasped it firmly in her own.

As they walked past the headstone, Brenna hazarded a glance back at it, reading for the millionth time the words that were inscribed on the front:

 _Elsie Carson b. 1862 d. 1945_

 _Charles Carson b. 1856 d. 1946_

 _The waters were placid …_

 _All around was calm …_

 _And I continued my journey._ _ *****_

She turned her eyes heavenward, and smiled.

"Thank you," she said. "For everything."

 _ **The End**_

 ***From Mary Shelley, and quoted in "Music of the Heart" in a note penned by Charles Carson, written to the woman he hoped would, one day, become his wife. 3**


End file.
